


The Dancer (Minis)

by SirenNightshade



Series: Turtles' Doves [3]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Bay Movies)
Genre: F/M, Interspecies, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 03:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17195702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirenNightshade/pseuds/SirenNightshade
Summary: Side stories and minis for my fic, The Dancer. They don't belong in the main story but I felt they deserved to get seen, so I put them here, instead. Enjoy!





	1. Heritage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jocelyn is asked about her ethnic heritage. She explains to the best of her ability.

**Rating:** G (clean and healthy)

* * *

* * *

* * *

As the group sat around eating pizza, Donatello spoke up. “Hey, Jo,” he started.

“Hey, Doh,” she replied. Mikey snickered.

Donny gave a weak laugh, then ventured, “I’ve been meaning to ask you…what’s your ethnicity?”

She got that question a lot. When people found out she was a natural blonde, they always either called her a liar, claimed she tanned, or grew so curious they just had to ask. Her answer had consistently been a disappointment.

“I don’t know,” she told him with a shake of her head.

Four pairs of surprised eyes landed on her. Even Raphael was included; he’d never asked about this.

“Really?” Donny asked, probably baffled how she could not know something about herself.

She shrugged. “I assume I’m some sort of mutt. My mom says that she tried asking that question of her own parents, but they didn’t have a clear answer. Apparently her grandparents and _their_ parents and grandparents changed their stories every time they were asked. She said her parents heard Columbia, Egypt, India, Turkey, Brazil, the Caribbean, Cuba, Mexico, Saudi Arabia, and pretty much every other country at the equator.”

“Your mom looks black, though,” Raphael commented.

Nodding, she said, “Well, yeah. Her paternal grandfather was African, I think he came straight from Kenya. Immigrated. She got most of her looks from him.”

Donny asked, “What about your father’s side?”

“No clue,” she told him. “Dad was an orphan. No family history.”

“Was he black?” Mikey asked.

“He assumed Brazilian, actually,” Jocelyn answered. “Dark skin, brown eyes, _really_ curly hair…” This last she said as she tugged at her own curls. “But we just don’t know.”

“Have you tried tracking down his parents?” Leo asked her.

She shook her head. “I did, he did, his surrogate father did…but he was left at a fire station with no note. According to the Safe Haven Law, it was legal. He was healthy and around a week old at the time. His parents chose to remain anonymous and there’s nothing anyone can do about that now.”

“Wow,” Donny commented. “So at this point, your only option is DNA analysis.”

“Pretty much,” she agreed with a nod. “But that’s both expensive and something I don’t really think matters. It’d be interesting to know, I guess, but it’s not like it’s crucial for my future.”

It’d be nice to have that figured out, yeah; she’d like to be able to actually answer that question. Ultimately, though, did it really matter where she came from?


	2. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo and Raph having a chat about her dancing and, hopefully, explains a lot about her routine and upcoming role as Denise in her troupe’s homebrew play. Takes place before school let out.

**Rating:** PG (sweet, cute, and there’s also a kiss) 

* * *

* * *

* * *

“How do you always stay up so late?” Raphael wondered aloud.

Aha, that’s right, she’d never explained that, had she? Jocelyn shrugged, answering, “I don’t sleep in eight-hour chunks like most people do.”

Tilting his head, he regarded her with silent question.

She bit her lip while she pondered how to explain. The long story version started when her father passed, but the short version…

“Weeeellllll,” she hummed, “to put it simply, I tend to dance to exhaustion. Get up at seven, go to school, school gets out at three, I go to dance class and practice until six, come home, make dinner, pass out around seven or eight, get up again at like ten, dance for a while longer up here on the roof, go back to bed around midnight or two. Wash, rinse, repeat.”

He looked surprised. “Why do you do it that way?” he asked.

At first, because it helped her manage her grief. It was hard to feel sad when she was constantly moving, constantly focusing.

But nowadays… “Habit, I guess,” she answered with another shrug.

He didn’t look satisfied with that answer, but thankfully he didn’t press for more.

* * *

Once she felt telltale weakness in her legs, letting her know she’d been at it long enough, she started to tell him goodbye.

But Raphael held her back a moment, asking, “So, I know you’re practicin’ for Denise and that play, but how come your dance keeps changing?”

Every night she had new moves, new steps, new techniques. “Because we practice together as a group every day,” she told him. “I mean obviously you wouldn’t have known that, but my dances keep changing because the play keeps changing. Y’know, like, it’s not just my role for the whole play, I have to fit with the rest of the production. Every time something changes, the whole play has to alter to fit it.”

“…And every individual role and dance,” he concluded.

She nodded, noting how he was starting to look impressed. She smirked. “Thirty girls are participating in this play,” she informed him, “from lighting to makeup to costumes to dancing. We have to be a well-oiled machine or it won’t get very far.”

“I like that,” he told her.

“The teamwork?” she checked.

He nodded. “That your troupe is so aware of everyone in it.” He paused, then ventured, “Has the play ever changed cause of _your_ dance?”

“Oh, yeah,” she agreed, waving her hand. “I came in a couple times already, like, ‘Hey girls, what do you think of this sequence?’ And they liked it enough to change some things up. All the dancers have done it, like, at least twice by now.”

“So everyone’s dance can and has changed the whole play, more than once,” he said.

“B-I-N-G-O,” she spelled.

“That’s pretty cool,” he noted.

She grinned. “Ballet is way cooler than most people realize, it’s true…but I’d say my troupe is the coolest.”

“Cause you’re in it?” he teased.

She fluffed her hair. “I mean, yeah, that _too_.”

He chuckled, escorted her back inside the building and kissed her good night at her window. She watched him vanish between the buildings nearby, always super impressed with how he moved.

Freaking ninja.


	3. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jocelyn asks the turtles if they’re actually related. [[This is my personal headcanon I invented for funsies. Non-canon 100%. This also takes place at an unspecified point in the future, after Jo and Raph have fully crossed the line to full intimacy.]]

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/anatomy talk)

* * *

* * *

* * *

“So are you guys actually brothers?” 

The turtles paused their chattering to look at Jocelyn, the episode of Family Guy they were watching forgotten for the moment. They were seated on the couch (it was cramped as hell) with Jocelyn in a chair just behind it. Right then she had her arms crossed on the back of the couch, her chin on them, face located squarely between Leo and Raph. Left to right, they went Mikey, Raph, Jo, Leo and Donny. 

“Just curious,” she defended herself. 

Then, one by one, all eyes turned to Donny – he was the only one who’d bothered to look into it. He paused the show, then replied, “Well, yes, loosely. Raph and Leo have the same mother but different fathers, so they’re half-brothers; Mikey and Raph are cousins on Raph’s dad’s side; and my mother is a cousin to Leo and Raph, so I’m their first cousin once-removed.” 

“Wait…hang on,” she interjected, chuckling. Working it out, she gestured Leo and Raph each, saying, “Different dads.” They nodded. Then, to Mikey and Raph, she said, “Cousins.” Another pair of nods. 

Finally, to Donny, she began, “I don’t get the whole once-removed thing.” 

“It just means there’s not the same amount of steps between us,” Donny said, gesturing his cousins, “and our grandparents.” When Jo showed no signs of getting it, he turned to her. “Okay, so, _their_ mother,” he started with a point at Leo and Raph, “had a brother or sister. I’m not sure which. _That_ sibling is _my_ grandparent. _My_ mother is _their_ cousin,” he added with another gesture. 

“Oh,” she said, the explanation finally clicking. “So, you and Mikey have no relation?” 

“Well, we do, but it’s about four generations back,” Donny clarified. “We only share about twelve percent of our DNA.” 

Raising his hand, Mikey added, “I still don’t get what that means.” 

At that, Jo chuckled. “It means you’re super distant cousins,” she told him. 

He paused, then said, “Ooohhhhhh.” 

Flinging a hand in the air, Donny snapped, “Oh, you understood _that_ but not my flow chart? You have any idea how hard I worked on that?!” 

“’Too hard’ would be my guess,” Jo quipped. 

Raph and Leo both laughed at that. 

Scowl/pouting, Donny grumbled to himself. 

“Oh come on,” she began, nudging him. “Are you really surprised that you overthought this whole thing?” 

“She has a point,” Leo commented. 

“You overthink and overwork _everything_ ,” Raph added. 

Annoyed, Donny waved an arm at them, looking away. 

Then something occurred to her and Jo began, “Wait…so you guys are half-brothers from the same mother.” She looked between the two in question. 

Leo and Raph glanced at each other, confused about where she was going with this. 

“But you came from the same, um…what’s the word for it?” she wondered. 

“Clutch,” Donny supplied. 

“Right,” she agreed. “How does that work? Do turtle girls take multiple mates or something?” 

“Uhhh…” was Raph’s response. He, Leo and Mikey wore matching looks – none of them had any idea how to answer that. 

Once more, all eyes turned to Donny. The genius in question gave a huff. “Did none of you guys ever research this on your own?” he demanded. 

“Nah.” 

“Nope.” 

“Afraid not.” 

Jo laughed to herself at their responses. 

“Alright, look,” Donny began, facing them again. “No, female turtles don’t usually take multiple mates a season. They pick a male – or none, for that matter – and that’s generally it. But she _should_ lay eggs every year and every clutch can have multiple fathers, because turtle…semen…lasts up to three years.” 

“What??” Jo, Raph and Mikey demanded in unison. Even Leo looked shocked. 

In the resulting silence, you could have heard a pin drop. Then Jo and Raph shared a pointed look. 

Donny noticed. Taking pity on the couple, he explained, “Yeah, the…the semen lasts three years. For turtles. But the female’s body is designed for that. For all other species, the female’s body would…clean that out.” 

Jocelyn exhaled a breath of relief then, giving a nervous laugh at the end. “Okay. Whew,” was her only response. 

Then Mikey said, “Hey, wait…” 

Raph turned a sharp, threatening look on the youngest turtle. Leo and Jo both shook their heads in warning. 

A look of realization dawned on Mikey, and despite the multiple ‘shut up’ warnings he was getting, he blurted at Raph, “Dude, have you been totally cream–” 

Raph swung, and Mikey’s recoil wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid it; he took a solid hit to the chest and was thrown over the arm of the couch. It didn’t end there, however. Raphael was already on his feet and ready to commence a pummeling. 

“What’d I tell you about makin’ comments like that, huh?!” he demanded. “What’d I tell you?!” 

Mikey ran straight for Jocelyn, yelping, “Jo, stop him! Help! _Jo!”_

Instead, she climbed over the couch to sit where Raph had just been, saying, “Nope, you brought this one on yourself.” 

And with Raph radiating pure malice, chasing Mikey around the lair, Donny unpaused the cartoon, resuming the Griffin family shenanigans.


	4. Sorrow, Ballet, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Jocelyn’s history involving her father, first person POV, while she thinks about it all.

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/heartwrenching despair) 

* * *

* * *

* * *

Julian Ferdinand Delaghy. My dad. 

Abandoned at a week old, adopted at two months. His dad’s name was Percy, French by heritage but American for the last three generations. Grandpa was a great father, though single throughout Dad’s life. He adopted Dad when he was forty-two, partly out of loneliness and partly out of a desire to give a child a better life. 

Mom and Dad met when he was seventeen and she fifteen. Mom was twenty when she found out she was pregnant. They immediately married and she quit college to care for me, meanwhile Dad quickly got a job at a gym as a personal trainer. 

We moved into my current apartment when I was too young to remember it. In a way, it feels like nothing existed before my memories of my bedroom. Not the rest of the apartment, the building, or the world. 

Dad was a silly man. He had a very limited number of jokes and overplayed them to death. Still, I can remember laughing every time, though Mom rarely did more than smile and shake her head. 

They loved each other very much. There were times it felt like I was an outsider compared to them, especially when they did things like snuggle on the couch together. I’m sure they would’ve let me join in and cuddle up, but from a distance it looked too personal, too intimate, for a young girl to intrude. 

I still remember so many little things about Dad. Like the time he was showing me how he made dinner, holding me in one arm while pointing at everything with the other. Then he picked up a sauce pan, placed it over his black curls, and said, “You can also wear it as a hat!” 

I must have been three years old then, but I distinctly recall laughing hysterically. That became one of his few jokes, and in the years that followed he did it again and again, and every time it made me laugh. 

I remember him carrying me on his shoulders, watching the sidewalk move from six feet below me. I remember holding his chin and the feel of his freshly-shaven stubble. I remember thinking I was invincible from way up there – Dad was a god, indestructible, and in his arms I was untouchable. Nothing could ever hurt me up there. 

When I was five we were watching TV and the ballet _The Nutcracker_ came on. I was so caught up watching the dancing that I almost totally missed the story. Enraptured, focused, obsessed – I was hooked. At once I told Dad I wanted to do that, I wanted to dance like those women were. 

I remember him smiling at me, warmth and pride and love in each inch of him. 

The next day he took me to a dance school. He talked to the matron, Miss Dubois, and asked to let me watch her class for a while. She agreed. Within minutes I ran out onto the floor, totally ignorant of etiquette and rules, to dance with them. 

She sent me to the locker room, told me to put on a spare leotard, take off my shoes, and come back. When I did, she let me join the lesson. It was hard – far harder than I’d expected. I couldn’t stretch or bend or twist the way the others were. I almost gave up. 

That’s when Cassandra took center stage. She started physically placing my feet, guiding my arms, showing me how to follow the lesson and moving me when I couldn’t quite manage it. When I told her I wanted to stop, she wagged her finger at me. 

I can’t remember what she said, but whatever it was, it convinced me to keep going. 

A week later Dad had started payments to the school to let me attend. I’m not sure how he managed it – we were never very wealthy despite how nice our home appeared to be – but manage it, he did. 

He attended every one of my lessons that he could. Mom, meanwhile, saw her opportunity and quickly landed a job at a law firm to continue in her schooling – indirectly learning law on the job, as it were. With me at an after-school class, she had the freedom to start working and add a second income to the house. 

For a few years, that helped us dramatically. 

It was hard at first. Ballet can be punishing if you don’t stick with it and keep up a routine. I was a beginner, too, and my feet quickly took on a constant ache. Stage and dress rehearsals, especially, were harsh; I remember begging to quit on more than one occasion. Every time I took too hard of a fall, I’d ask Dad to take me out. 

He always said the same thing: “I know it hurts. I know you’re embarrassed. But it doesn’t matter how many times you fall – it matters that you always get back up one more time.” 

Dad always knew exactly what I needed to hear. He was a magician, a prophet, a demigod. In my eyes, Dad was eternal. 

And then he passed out at work one day. 

I was at a rehearsal when Mom came to pick me up, a whole hour before class was supposed to end. She wouldn’t tell me why, just that we had to go. When we pulled into the hospital, the huge red plus sign terrified me. 

Seeing Dad sitting on a bed, wearing a paper gown, was even worse. I can’t remember anything else about that day except that I ran to Dad and curled up in his arms. Whatever the doctor said, I didn’t hear a word of it. Whatever x-rays he showed us, I didn’t see it. Whatever anyone else was feeling, I missed it. 

That day all I heard, all I saw, all I _felt_ was my own fear. 

Things did not get better. 

Dad had to stay. “Immediate treatment”. I refused to leave. I clung to him, screaming, crying, drowning out all words and placations through sheer volume. Mom and Dad had to wrench me away from him, and even then I struggled. 

“Mom needs you now,” Dad said to me. 

“But I need _you_ ,” I told him. 

“Antony needs you, too.” 

Antony. My baby brother. Mom wasn’t quite showing then, but I understood that my precious, fragile little brother was inside her, slowly getting bigger and stronger. It would be months before I could meet him. He would need me then. 

According to Dad, he needed me _now_. 

I settled. I took it to heart. That night Dad stayed in the hospital, and I slept with Mom in my parents’ bed. I sang lullabies to Antony until exhaustion overcame me. He became my focus, the thing I needed to protect. I remember Mom stroking my hair, her chest shuddering with almost every breath. 

It made me want to cry, but it also made me strong. _Mom needs me. Antony needs me. I’ll be the strong one._

We went to see Dad almost every day. He couldn’t leave the hospital, so we had little choice. Sometimes Mom was too tired to make the drive, and I accepted that. She needed her rest. She was making a brother for me, after all. Dad needed his rest, too, which is why I willingly left when Mom said it was time to go. 

“See you tomorrow,” Dad would say. 

“See you in my dreams,” Mom would reply. 

Life was _almost_ normal for a little while. I would see Dad, he would help me read a book, I would show him what I learned in ballet class, I would tell him the phase of the moon and which constellations would be in the sky that night. Mom would hold his hand, and Dad would lean against her. Sometimes they radiated love so strong I would look away and do something else for a little while. 

Dad’s hair started falling out. I was scared, but he promised me it would be okay. “It’s temporary. It means the treatment is working.” I believed him. 

He’d lied. 

When Mom started showing, her belly swelling with my brother’s growing size, Dad started giving sadder and sadder smiles. He knew. I know that now. 

He knew he wasn’t going to meet Antony. 

But he held on and let us believe it anyway. He gave us that hope. 

“Goodbye,” he said one night. The last night. 

“Goodbye,” Mom said back, and it sounded like _Please, no_. 

I was too young to understand what it all meant, but just old enough to know it wasn’t good. I didn’t sleep that night. I stayed up in what we’d been turning into Antony’s room but was still technically my dance room. I stayed up and I practiced to the sound of silence and my mother’s muffled cries. 

It was 3:54a.m. when the phone rang. Just once. 

One ring, and Mom had answered it. 

She didn’t say anything, or nothing that I could hear from one room over. Nothing happened for a few hours after that. I think Mom thought I was in bed and had chosen to let me sleep. 

She looked surprised, even disappointed, when she found me in my tights and leotard, standing in front of the mirrors, one ankle on the half-high bar. It was 7a.m. 

“…We have to go,” she told me. 

Some part of me knew, even then, that Dad was gone. I can’t explain the logic involved or even how I felt then. Dad was gone, and a hole had drained everything from inside of me. I became a zombie – not that I had any idea what a zombie was back then. 

I don’t remember going back to the hospital or what Mom did while there. I don’t think I was paying attention. I don’t even think I had the capacity to pay attention. I held a beanie baby cat in my hands and it held all of my focus. If I said or did anything else, I don’t recall. 

Weeks passed by in a blur. Before I knew it, I was attending a memorial for Dad. I was wearing a black dress, just like Mom. People I didn’t know handed me gifts and flowers, apologized to me, and thanked me in turn. 

“Putting on such a brave face, what a good girl.” 

“You’re being so strong for your mother.” 

“What a strong girl you are.” 

“Such a stiff upper lip. You’re an inspiration.” 

“Good girl.” 

“Good girl.” 

“Good girl.” 

_Good girl. Good girl._ Was I, really? _Good girl._ I felt nothing. _Good girl._ Was that a good thing? 

_Good girl._

I guess it was. 

And then there was a turning point. I was sitting, emotionless, in a chair, gazing around at all the adults and various things they’d brought. A wall full of pictures sat beside a table decorated with objects belonging to my dad. Certificates declared he was a personal trainer and volunteer firefighter. Candles and flowers circled the table. 

In the center was an urn. 

It took me a long time to realize what I was looking at. 

That was Dad. _The urn._ It held his ashes. The last of him. Everything he was, reduced to a few handfuls of dust. 

A shock went through me, the first thing I’d felt in weeks and the last thing I’d feel for months following. My thoughts stopped, and for a while I thought my heart had, too. 

I left. I just got up and walked out. 

And then I didn’t stop. 

In retrospect, that was so stupid of me. I was a seven-year-old black girl, walking alone in New York city. Anything could have happened. The city wasn’t good to girls like me. My parents had cautioned me about that my whole life – the city isn’t safe; never go anywhere without an adult; if you’re in trouble, run into the nearest building and scream. 

Somehow I found myself at my dance school. It was dark. Classes were over for the night. I walked inside, got into my locker, dressed and went to the practice floor. I thought about Dad. 

It hurt. 

I started dancing. 

The hurt eased. 

Miss Dubois found me there sometime later. I don’t know what she saw or what she was thinking, but she took up position as mentor and guided me. After a while I realized Mom was there, watching. Her eyes were wet, her dark skin pale. She said nothing, just watched and kept one hand steady on her stomach. 

I danced until my legs gave out, pain in my feet and knees and muscles. I was exhausted and shaky and blessedly devoid of feeling. 

I’d found what I needed. 

Mom carried me out. She didn’t speak, but then, neither did I. No words would’ve helped then. Words still haven’t helped, a whole decade later. 

Two days later I was pulled out of school just after lunch. Mom was in the hospital. Dad’s cancer had claimed a second victim. 

Two weeks later my brother’s ashes were scattered in a meadow. Mom’s choice. She wanted Antony to be part of something beautiful. 

I held her hand. Her grip was too tight and it hurt, but I said nothing. _Mom needs me._ I let her hold as tight as she wanted, even after the pain made my arm shake. 

For a few weeks she spent most of her time at home drunk. _Mom needs me._ I cleaned up after her. I cooked. When she vomited on the floor, I called Cassie’s mom to find out how to clean it up. I got Mom into the bath, washed her off. I dried her. I dressed her. I put her in bed. She cried. 

That was okay. She needs me. I’ll be a good girl and take care of her. 

I was _seven_. 

It didn’t take long for things to become obsessive. If anything was out of place, I had to fix it. If we had multiples of anything, they had to be arranged perfectly in groups of three. I didn’t understand why I had to do this, but I also had no idea it wasn’t normal behavior. 

That’s where Dr. Parker came in. He was a nice man, short and short-haired and well-dressed and soft in voice. A child therapist. While I was talking to him, Mom was talking with her own doctor. Mother and daughter in separate rooms, dealing with the same grief. 

Dr. Parker was concerned. He wrote on a little paper, “Not showing normal grieving processes.” 

He left. Dr. Mary came in – she used her first name to try and connect better with kids. I didn’t like her; she constantly sounded condescending. Maybe I was biased, but she looked like Mom and I didn’t want my doctor to look like Mom. I gave her nothing. She left. 

Then came Dr. Dewitt. She was much better – looked nothing like Mom and talked very little. She was the one who caught on to my OCD, the one who offered solutions to my unique problems. She never tried to get me to cry like the others did – “We all grieve in our time, in our own way” – and there were times I said nothing and she let me be silent. 

She didn’t push. She just listened. 

I grew up. As the years passed I developed habits, some little and some big. When I started feeling sorrow well up, I threw myself into dance. When my feet ached, my heart didn’t. I preferred that. Soon I was dancing myself to exhaustion every day, and I couldn’t say if it was because I liked ballet that much or I feared my emotions that bad. 

Frustrations started welling up. I got mad at Mom. Why wouldn’t _she_ cook dinner? Why couldn’t _she_ clean up for once? Why was _I_ the mom of the house? A girl at school called me an orphan. I hit her. It felt good. I hit her again and it felt even better. 

I got suspended. I didn’t understand that was bad; I was home more and could dedicate more time to ballet. Wasn’t that a good thing? It was what I wanted. 

I thought. 

In 8th and 9th grade, I took up cheerleading. It was fun, a parallel to ballet in many ways. I got to dance to music in front of crowds of screaming people alongside a dozen other girls and boys. The coach gave me a baton, and I learned how to twirl and toss it. It was fun. 

But I didn’t have enough time for both ballet and cheerleading. I had to make a choice. I remembered Dad smiling at me from the audience while I danced on a stage, remembered Mom steadily holding a video camera to catch my performance. 

I picked ballet. 

Grandpa Percy died. Then Grandma and Grandpa Orelle, my mom’s parents, within months of one another. We were alone now, Mom and me. Isolated. No family left on either side. Mom grew depressed. The house suffered. We suffered. 

I made other kids at school suffer. 

Mom finally caught on. She threatened to throw me out into the street if I didn’t shape up. That sounded like a death sentence, so I obeyed. I tamped down on the violence and anger, pushing it aside whenever I felt it. But I needed a substitute, something to take its place. 

I found boys. Boys were fun; if I used them in the right way, nothing negative or bad could touch me. It took a little while but I started figuring it out. I learned what I wanted and how to get it. I experimented with Cassie; together we learned what sex was and what we wanted out of it. 

I developed a new routine. From school to dance class, from dance class to home. I slept for a little while, then got up to make dinner. Mom and I never talk much during dinner. We usually just watch TV in silence. Sometimes I’d go to bed then, sometimes I’d go dance more. 

Either way, I started dancing on the roof late at night. Be a good girl, don’t wake Mom. Dance where you can’t disturb her. I stayed up until my legs shook and my eyes fought to stay open, then went to bed. Day in and day out, every day of the week, every day I didn’t spend with friends or at recitals. 

I didn’t feel when I danced or when I slept. It was the safest way for me. 

But a person can only skate along in misery for so long, pushing at their own boundaries, before they broke. 

Denise is what did it for me. 

Denise, the suffering, lost woman who couldn’t succeed no matter how she tried. It hit too close to home. The more I danced, trying to get into her head, the more I was reminded how broken I was. I projected onto her, pretending that when her dance made me cry it wasn’t because I was letting myself feel my own emotions for the first time in a decade. 

It left me confused, disturbed, in pain. It made me not want to dance anymore. If this was what dancing was doing to me, why should I keep going? But I couldn’t _stop_ , either – Dad loved that I was a ballerina. Dad would want me to keep going. 

I needed something, a new crux, a pivotal moment, a final test. A video came to mind. 

I strapped knives to my slippers, and for the first time in years, let myself think of Dad. _Help me,_ I thought. _I’m falling._ _I need help.  
_

…I hadn’t expected my prayer to be answered.


	5. Playtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playtime in the lair between lovers.

**Rating:** G (nothing to worry about)

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* * *

* * *

Jocelyn _knew_ she shouldn’t mess with Raphael at certain times or in certain ways, and especially not in certain company. 

She did it anyway. 

He, Mikey and Donny were in the middle of playing Smash Brothers – she had no way of discerning which one, video game illiterate as she was; she knew there were several and that was the limit of her knowledge – when she came up behind the couch and leaned over it, bracing her elbows. 

Raphael on her right, Donny on her left. At first her lover just glanced at her, confirming her presence, and obviously suspected nothing. 

The guys were shit-talking, and hard, and Jo used that to mask her actions. First she snuck her hand around to Raph’s right side and ran a fingernail lightly up the side of his neck. 

He shivered and absently swatted at the spot; she barely took her hand back before he could (unknowingly) slap her. 

Then, a few moments later, she brought her hand to his shell and, very slowly, began dragging a pair of nails down it. She cleared a tiny ridge every few seconds – not enough to make it immediately noticeable, but enough that he _would_ notice it. 

After a few moments he jolted and looked over his shoulder; by then she’d innocently folded her hands, pretending to watch the battle on the TV. 

Raphael’s character got launched off the screen by Mikey’s and Raph shouted, “Oh, come on! That wasn’ fair!” 

Did she ever mention she liked his slang-heavy glottal stops? 

Cause she did. 

“Suck it up, bro,” Mikey chuckled. 

Donny was snickering – while Mikey verbally battled with Raph, Donny launched _Mikey’s_ character off-screen. 

“Seriously?!” Mikey whined. 

The match continued. Jocelyn chose next to lick her finger, and when it was nice and coated, she eased it towards her boyfriend – 

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Leo shaking his head in warning. 

_Don’t do it,_ that warning said. 

She grinned at him, winking. _Just watch me,_ she sent back. 

His eyes darted between her and Raph, back and forth, like he was about to witness a car crash and knew it but couldn’t look away. 

When her finger grew close, Raphael suddenly spun around on the couch. She yelped in surprise, recoiling; he caught her, hefting her onto the back of the couch and against his chest – and then proceeded to start tickling her. 

She squealed and laughed in turn, kicking her legs and flailing as she tried to free herself. Donny hopped to his feet to avoid the ruckus but managed to keep in the game; Mikey’s attention swapped to the couple a little too fully, leaving Donny to knock both his brothers’ avatars off the screen and claim victory. 

Raphael obviously didn’t care, but Mikey whined. “Really?” he complained over Jo’s hysterical laughter. 

“Shoulda stayed focused,” Donny chided him. 

Finally Jo got free (or Raphael let her go), shoving back to her feet. Panting and gasping for breath and still fighting off lingering giggles, she lifted a finger at him and snapped, “No! Bad turtle!” 

His brows hiked up, giving her a look of disbelief. “Bad turtle?” he echoed. 

She was starting to see her mistake. 

Giving her a devious little smile, he asked, “You wanna see a ‘bad turtle’?” 

Hesitating, just now realizing how deep she’d dug this hole, she replied, “No?” 

He jumped over the couch; she took off in a run with playful yelp. Though he was chasing her, she was actually having a lot of fun. There wasn’t a lot of space available, though, and despite being an athlete of the dancing variety, she quickly got herself cornered. 

Arms banded around her and hefted her up, and she squealed and kicked even as she laughed. Now caught in his arms, she couldn’t resist putting on a dramatic show. 

Twisting her face away, she declared, “No, you have me!” Then, going limp against him with one hand lifting to rest on her forehead, she finished, “Do what you will with me!” 

She heard Mikey snort and start to cackle, and she _thought_ she heard some chuckling from where she saw Leo last. 

Raph laughed, too, just a bit. And then, shaking his head, he set her back on her feet. 

Pleased now, she did a little skip and twirl, singing, “I win!” 

Raphael tilted his head at her. “ _You_ win?” he checked. 

“I win!” she repeated with a grin. 

There was another pause and then the game started again: Raphael chasing and Jocelyn running. This time, though, it ended with her in hysterics once again. Tickling, Raphael discovered, was her weakness. As long as he had his fingers in her ribs, she was helpless. 

And _he_ was the victor.


	6. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some shameless smut because I want it lol. Can take place anywhere in the story between chapters 21 and 32.

**Rating:** XXX (swearing/sex)

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Staying over with Raphael was always a lot of fun for Jocelyn, and more so now that they’ve started getting more and more intimate. She loved how he nuzzled into her when he was starting to get needy, liked the way he stared at her and touched her. It always made her feel so gloriously powerful. 

Well, it also just plain felt good, but to be honest, she more enjoyed having her mutant under her whims – hers to tease, to pleasure, to deny, to masturbate at her leisure – than having him pleasure _her_. 

He’d just never really given her free reign before and she was still hesitant to try too much. After all, in the past her lovers had always been equals in the field of sex. This was her first time feeling a true dominant urge, and she damn well wanted to try it out. After all, you had to try on clothing to see if they fit; you also had to try on fetishes to see if you really liked them. 

That in mind – and more or less making it up as she went – she stopped him when he started getting frisky with her. Guiding him towards the bed, she commented, “You wanna play a game?” 

Judging from Raphael’s suspicious look, he had an idea what she meant but wasn’t quite sure. “A game?” he checked. 

Biting her lip, she nodded in agreement. “Shorts off. Then lay back for me, however you’re most comfortable,” she said, nudging him. _You’re gonna be like that for a long time, if I have my way,_ she added silently. 

Eyes narrowed, he obeyed, slipping off his clothes and reclining on the bed, then stuffing a pillow between his shell and neck and wall. Arms wide, he said, “Good?”

“Perfect,” she purred, crawling onto the bed between his legs. “Now, hands on your shell,” she guided, miming that he do so by lifting her own hands to her shoulders. 

Confused, he did so, silently asking for some kind of explanation. 

Ignoring that, she ordered, “No talking. No moving your hands. Break either of these rules and I stop,” she told him. 

“Jocelyn…” he said, half a warning and half a plea. 

What a _lovely_ sound. “Strike one,” she hinted. Then, reaching out, she tugged his bandana down over his eyes, blinding him. 

He sucked in a breath, who-knew-what going through his head. But he was obviously getting excited, too, his body shifting in place. “Takin’ my sight, too?” he quipped. 

She heard the nerves behind his voice, a hesitant note under the humor telling her that he was unsure about this. “It’s all part of the fun, baby,” she promised. Peeling off her shirt, she tossed it aside, hunger and heat racing through her. 

God, the sight he made right there, all that delicious muscle restrained for her…well, it might be token only, but it still started a quiver in her. Just imagining what she was going to do to him now was making her feel power-drunk – imagining how he was going to respond once she started lavishing him was almost enough to make her come all by itself. 

She had best get started, then. 

Knowing Raphael was more than likely able to keep track of her meant she didn’t bother trying to surprise him. Instead she just reached out, running her hands up and down his plastron, nails scratching as she went. He didn’t react much other than taking a deeper breath, but then this was just a starter. 

She wanted him aware of what she was doing, just unable to see it coming. 

Guiding her hands higher, she trailed the tips up his neck, making him tilt his head back for her. She leaned over him then, starting to give his skin some gentle bites and licks. He hummed, pleased, smiling. 

“Remember,” she murmured, “you talk, I stop. So basically every word is your safeword.” 

He snorted. “As if you could overpower me anyway.”

“Fact,” she agreed, laying herself against him. “Strike two, by the way.” 

He just grunted, letting her know wordlessly that he was paying attention. Tugging his face down she kissed him, slow and sweet but deep and thrilling. Raphael was obviously more than a little okay with that, his tongue stroking and flicking hers in a way that would usually turn her bones to jelly. 

He wasn’t making this easy on her. And _fuck_ , she loved his taste. It just wasn’t fair, honestly.  

She didn’t kiss him for long, though. After a moment Jo backed up, stopping him from following her with a hand on his neck. She pushed herself back with one hand on his chest, the other trailing down his side so he could feel it more clearly when her nails scritched him. A little jolt went through him as she did so, sucking in a breath. 

God, she’d barely gotten started and she was already turned on… 

As she set in, nipping his sides and petting his thighs and licking whatever she damn well felt like, she could feel him struggling to remain still and silent. It got worse with time: he went from relaxed to tense, from little jolts to hard shudders. It thrilled the hell out of her, leaving her wet and achy. 

And, like him, it only got worse with time. 

Divesting herself of her bottoms, leaving her totally naked, she saw his nostrils flare with a deep, sharp inhale – _smelling_ that she’d removed her panties. His whole body jerked, like he’d nearly impulsively jumped up before catching himself. Settling back with difficulty, he shuddered and groaned. 

Unable to resist a naughty thought, she brought her hand down between her legs. Gathering a bit of her own moisture, she then lifted her wet fingers up to his mouth. 

“This what you want?” she murmured. 

He licked her fingers, groaning, and a shiver went through her. That was _so_ damn sexy – everything about it was a turn-on. Even the _sight_ of his tongue started a quiver in her belly. Then he sucked her fingers into his mouth and she felt his tongue curling around them. 

_Shit._ _He_ was seducing _her,_ and he probably wasn’t even trying. 

She withdrew her fingers with regret, Raphael following them until they popped free. Voice low, she said, “You’re doin’ this on purpose.” 

He grinned, still silent – still obeying her rules. 

“Okay,” she allowed. “But that makes this _war_.” 

His grin only grew. 

Naughty boy. 

So she surged forward, starting to nip at his neck again. He hissed in a breath, shivering, but tilted his head to give her free reign. _Good boy._

She couldn’t help a moan as she worked, everything about this only making her feel less and less in control – his seductive taste, the feel of him shuddering under her, his rough plastron against her naked breasts, his heavy breathing that lifted her with each inhale, the muscles jumping under her tongue and teeth. 

He was obeying, but even in his submissive state she was wrapped around his finger. 

If her goal was to succeed, she’d need to take even more control from him. The only problem: she had no idea how to do that. 

Then she felt him shudder hard, completely at odds with her actions, and felt a certain something brush against her thigh, slick and hot and insistent. His cock. He’d lost control of his cock. 

Perfect. 

She reached down automatically, grasping his erection with a light grip. Her fingers ghosted up and down that thick member, and it pulsed every time, demanding more. 

She pulled her hand away, denying it. He groaned loud, frustrated. 

“All in good time,” she promised, nuzzling his cheek. Then she drew back, running her hands down his sides to his thighs. As she pet him, going so far as to stroke his inner thighs to the crease of his hips, she was struck by how much their relationship had grown. 

He was trusting her – not just desiring, but believing in her. The parts of him that he’d held such misgivings towards…he was trusting her with them. He’d never have let her get so close to his cloaca a few weeks ago, let alone be totally naked in front of her, legs open for her. 

Even in the midst of all this lust, it made her eyes sting with emotion. 

In gratitude and appreciation, she ducked her head low to lick his delicious cock. He jolted, making her grin; he hadn’t seen that one coming? Maybe he wasn’t as good at tracking her as she’d believed… 

Holding the member still, she started sucking it down. Thanks entirely to practice, she was learning how to take more and more of it – she couldn’t fit any of it down her throat just yet, but she could suppress her gag reflex to get it _close_. 

Someday she hoped to be able to swallow his entire cock. 

Raphael gave a pleasured shout as she took it in; she immediately drew back, warning him, “Careful, get too noisy and we might get interrupted.” 

He gave a harsh shudder, breathing hard. The sight of his chest expanding and contracting so dramatically made her shiver with want. And his dick pulsed, his hips shifting as if silently begging her to get on with it. 

Giving him a bit of mercy, she returned to lavishing him. She was deliberately slow with it, though, giving long licks and little kisses and achingly slow sucks. This was only half for his benefit; she was lounging so much because _she_ wanted to, because she wanted to enjoy his flavor as long as she could. 

Soon the pulses going through his erection told her he was getting close. So she did what any good girlfriend would: she stopped, denying his orgasm, releasing his cock and sitting up away from it.  

He jerked forward with a snapped, “Joc–!” 

He barely caught himself, cutting off the word and forcing himself back with _extreme_ difficulty. It aroused the fuck out of her, seeing him like that – not to mention excited her for a different reason: he was _still_ obeying. 

She honestly hadn’t expected him to remain submissive for this long, and the fact that he did told her he liked it as much as she did. 

_Kinky_ , she thought. _We’re fucking_ kinky _. Holy shit._

She was _so_ going to be googling this later. 

Now she moved up again, kissing him only to pull back the moment she felt he wanted more. He growled in displeasure – but still didn’t speak or move his hands. It amazed her. 

So she chose to show her appreciation. 

She twisted around and laid back against him, straddling one of his thighs. Tilting her chin up, she nipped at his jaw; he angled his head down to try and capture her mouth, but she evaded that. Instead, she started grinding against him, rubbing her slick sex on his thick skin. 

Jocelyn knew this would get to him – pleasuring herself, using him to do it, yet not letting him do anything to help. He was damn well trying, though; his lips managed to catch her ear and give it a suck that sent sparks of pleasure through her, and his thigh kept flexing and relaxing under her. It was almost bizarre, how good that felt. 

And a little mind-boggling. He could seriously pleasure her without being able to _move_. 

_Naturally-talented fuck,_ she thought. 

Reaching up, she brought her fingers to his neck and started scratching, knowing by now how much he liked it. Then, grinding on him for her own pleasure, she said, “You don’t even know how bad I wanna take you inside me.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, shuddered. 

Sliding her hand down to his cock and stroking it, she went on, “I’d be sitting on _this_ right now if you’d just let me.” 

He groaned, dropping his head back. His hips were shifting, but he was stuck: he _could_ buck into her hand, but that would dislodge her; he _could_ keep helping her own masturbation, but his would suffer. 

Stuck. 

She leaned forward, one knee up and one knee down, and started grinding on him in hard and long strokes. She moved her hand in time with her motions, as well, giving him equal attention. 

For now. 

The feel of his skin rubbing against her clit was surprisingly mind-blowing. Maybe she was just that turned on, but she could swear no touch had ever felt _this_ good. And yet, when she felt herself reaching the peak, she stopped; she quickly spun back around, releasing his dick and effectively stopping _both_ their masturbating. 

Jocelyn wanted this to last even _longer_. 

Raphael gave a shout as she stopped, and she took the opportunity to stick her tongue in his mouth. She was almost to the point of being crazed despite how much control she’d been given, craving more even though she’d decided not to grant either of them an orgasm just yet. 

And as she kissed him, laying atop him with his cock stuck between their bodies and pulsing ineffectively, she _felt_ him snap. 

He jolted, hard, and then his arms were banded around her, refusing to let her free. The kiss grew frantic in moments, quickly turning _her_ into the powerless, restrained one. He’d turned forceful and demanding in an instant, reversing the power dynamic – and all it did was arouse her further. Then he started grinding against her, and after a few of those he shifted them, changing their position.  

One huge hand slipped down and between her thighs, grasping and pulling his cock through the gap he’d made and thrilling the fuck out of her. His fingers stroked her then, one pushing inside – she was so wet by now her body offered no resistance – and then, reclining further, he slipped his legs around hers. 

Trapping her. 

As he started shifting and thrusting against her she lifted her hands to his neck, scratching, doing what she could to aid the act. Between his tongue, his cock and his finger inside her, she was quickly overwhelmed and at the mercy of a climax. She couldn’t help it – this whole ‘game’ had aroused her to hell and back, leaving her to helplessly quiver and shudder against him, her pleasured cries swallowed by him. 

Once her spasms died down he relocated his hands to her ass, holding her still as he fucked her thighs. By now her muscles were already relaxing, leading her to lay atop him as he worked, grinning and pleased with herself. It didn’t last long before he came, his body shuddering so hard she had to wonder if she’d pushed him too far. 

And, god damn, but feeling that cock pulsing between her thighs was sexy as hell. Not to mention she could feel his cum landing on her calves, the wet heat of it almost arousing her all over again. They’d have to do it like this again, she decided. 

She hummed in approval as their combined quivers faded. “Well,” she breathed, “that was easily the hottest thing I’ve ever done.” 

He grunted in response. “Yeah, well, don’t get used t’it.” 

That had her grinning all over again. “Oh, don’t fake like you didn’t enjoy it.” 

That shut him up _real_ quick.


	7. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donny’s thoughts on Raph’s recent outburst: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17190455/chapters/40419407

**Rating:** PG (wee bit o’ swearing)

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At the time, in the moment, it’d been hard to comprehend what was happening – even for the genius Donatello. Not because it’d been overly difficult to think, but because it was just so baffling of a sequence. 

Okay, admittedly the brothers had gone too far with how they’d been teasing Raphael. In Donny’s defense, it’d actually been kind of cute. It was clear from the look on her face that Jocelyn knew they were just making things up; she didn’t believe a word of it. She’d simply found it funny, how the brothers were interacting. 

Besides which, it was pretty obvious that Jo liked to tease Raph – it followed that she’d be alright with his brothers teasing him, too. Not to mention that teasing Raphael was a lot of fun just because of how rarely the opportunity presented itself. 

But his reaction hadn’t been expected, not by a long shot. Granted, Donny also hadn’t expected Mikey to say those damning words: _love at first sight_. It kind of went without say that that was off-limits, as far as teasing went. 

Yet even factoring in that fateful comment, Raph had gone off the radar. 

For a moment, as Mikey recoiled, Donny had been stunned. It was obvious what had happened – he’d seen the motion from the corner of his eye – but it’d felt logically impossible. Raphael had never… _would_ never behave like that. Simple analysis of his personality guaranteed it. 

Yet…it’d happened. 

In retrospect Donny expected he would’ve been too stunned to react if Leo hadn’t. Seeing Leo immediately jump to his feet and in front of Mikey drew Donny to do the same. And it worked, insofar as Raph had backed up a few steps. Rage was still clearly visible in every inch of him, but he’d been backing down. Barely. 

Now that everything was settled and Raph was off having his recovery moment, Donny could admit that he’d done the wrong thing. It’d been reactionary for him – when Jo jumped in between them, Donny’s first thought was that a stray swing from Raph’s burly arms would _kill_ her. So he’d pulled her away. 

He could see now how that’d been the worst move he could’ve made. Maybe Jo wouldn’t have been able to calm Raphael completely, but her presence wouldn’t have made things worse, either. Donny had seen it firsthand, how easily she handled Raph’s moods. 

More than once, during breakfast, all she’d had to do was grasp Raph’s hand with her own and he was visibly relaxing, subdued by her freaking _touch_. 

The smartest thing to do would’ve been to let Jo do her thing. Instead, Donny had worried about injuries and resulting pain. He’d pulled her aside, out of the way, in case Raph attacked. 

It’d made things _visibly_ worse. At once, all of Raphael’s muscles had coiled up, going rock-hard, and when his gaze landed on Donny, the brilliant turtle felt a sudden wash of fear. 

That was an almost literal first for him. 

The fight that followed had been difficult for him, to say the least. Not only was he fighting his older brother – who clearly was trying to _kill_ him – but Raph’s style had always been hard for Donny to predict. 

It was even more so now. There was no logic, no thought, behind Raphael’s moves except focused _murder_. Considering Donny was used to out-thinking his opponents, leading them to certain moves or attacks with a counter ready, fighting Raph in that state was as hard as fighting the freaking _wind_. 

Even Leo, Donny, Mikey _and_ Splinter all shouting at Raphael to calm down – while trying to avoid his massively strong swings – had done nothing. (Oh, and Donny had some words for his brother later, on that note. Two of his monitors were destroyed and Raph would definitely need to make reparations for that. Computer monitors were _not_ easy to find and right now he didn’t have the spare change to pay back April for getting him replacements.) 

Then Raph got a hand on Donny’s _throat_. At once his mind had analyzed every possible shred of information and concluded that he was about to either die or end up paralyzed. Neither were best-case scenarios, to say the least. Raph’s grip had even been tight enough to cut off Donny’s airflow – he couldn’t even speak. 

Barely a second and a half passed in that horrified Limbo…and then Jo’s voice had cut through the Lair. 

In snap, Donny saw Raph’s eyes go from enraged to shocked. His attention diverted, refocusing, he’d come back to himself before anything notably permanent could occur. 

At that moment, Donny freaking _loved_ Jocelyn. 

Watching Raphael then had proven to be a chore. His brother was visibly,  unbelievably, _crushingly_ regretful, wearing guilt like a second skin. Hard as it was, though, Donny kept on watching, analyzing everything he could see. He needed to – right then he felt it was his job to figure what the hell had just happened, in the hopes of preventing a similar altercation in the future. 

It’d only taken moments to identify the culprit: fear. 

Raphael had always had a certain degree of fears about him. Mostly they’d centered on his view of _himself_ , of him not feeling worthy of his brothers. Donny understood that just fine – it wasn’t exactly a new revelation, and, hell, he would bet all four of them had felt similar things over their lifetimes. 

Case in point, Donny had always worried that he was a drag on his brothers. That was one reason he’d done everything he could to put his intellect to work in their favor, to make living down here easier and – by extension – make himself valuable and worthy of their love. 

Raph’s fears now, however, were clearly centered on Jocelyn. 

It wasn’t hard to see that he was in love. Honestly, by now Donny was surprised he’d never overheard the two of them confessing such. And, yeah, it kind of scraped for Donny – he would never deny feeling a measure of jealousy – but ultimately he was happy for his brother. 

And Jo, for that matter, though he was still somewhat puzzled how and why she loved _Raphael_ of all people. Suffice to say the easily-enraged, violent turtle didn’t seem like the type to land such an affectionate and loving girlfriend. The two were practically polar opposites in a multitude of ways – yet they worked, somehow. 

Donny’s best guess: he wasn’t seeing them at their most besotted. 

But for all that Raphael obviously loved Jocelyn, he was still notably uncomfortable with the entire thing. That was no surprise; saying Raph was clumsy with emotions would be an understatement. It was no wonder, then, that he’d acted the way he had. 

First was Mikey’s comment, which _of course_ Raph wouldn’t appreciate. It hit too close to home for the violent man. Granted, that hit had still been unexpected, but that just went to show just how much – and how deeply – Raph felt for Jo. 

It followed, then, that Donny pulling Jo away from Raph was seen as him attempting to _take_ her. On an instinctive level, Raph’s admitted greatest weakness and strength in one, Donny’s move had been seen as possessive. And Raph, being afraid to lose Jocelyn, had reacted as one would expect of an unhinged animal about to lose its mate. 

Now, as Donny contemplated this while speaking with Leo about structure damage to the wall Raph had punched a hole through, he found himself glancing towards Jo. She was seated on the couch by now, looking for all the world like it was just another casual day in the life of the mutant turtles. 

Noticing him looking at her, she gave him a steady gaze back. He could see, plain as day, that she had a plan. The calm focus in her eyes said she knew – _everything_ – and planned on unleashing a tide unlike any Raphael would have felt before. 

In a particular way, it kind of made Donny feel excited for what was to come. Raph would have no idea what storm was brewing for him. To that end, Donny made a little mental note to face the two of them while it went down, letting his shoulder cam catch everything. 

If it went all to hell, he’d just delete the file later – but he had a distinct feeling it was _not_ going to go all to hell.


	8. The Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonardo has something to apologize for…

**Rating:** PG-13 (swearing/certain anatomy mentions)

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“Jocelyn?” 

The blonde in question glanced up when her name was called, seeking the source: Leonardo. 

It’d been a few days since that end-of-school-year party they’d held for the human, and true to his word, Leo was going to apologize to her. It was weirdly uncomfortable, though, leaving him feeling awkward. Right then she was leaning on the back of the couch, watching as Leo’s brothers played some racing game. Every so often she took the controller from Raph and raced _for_ him. 

The first time she did this, it’d surprised the two youngest enough that she’d won the race. Now, however, they were focused – yet Jo was a surprisingly good racer. She held her own against them fairly well. The three of them won roughly an equal number of times, and though Raph won notably fewer, it was clear he counted Jocelyn’s victories as his own. 

For Leonardo, it was a curious and semi-interesting development. He wouldn’t have guessed Jo would be good at video games, of all things. 

But by now he’d avoided his duty long enough. It was time to make things right. According to Raphael, she was going to be pissed off about it; that was fine. Though Leo admitted he needed to apologize, he still didn’t regret what he’d done. 

When it came to protecting his family, he considered every method justified. 

Now, as she gave him a curious look, he said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” 

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed easily. She was in good spirits, he saw. That was good. It would make things easier. 

When she leaned down to give Raph a kiss on the cheek, though, Leo rolled his eyes. Honestly, sometimes their affection was downright painful. He didn’t like feeling jealous of them, but every time they did something like that, he couldn’t help envisioning himself in Raph’s place. 

What would it be like, he wondered, to have a girlfriend? To have her willingly sit in his lap or nuzzle into him or kiss him on the cheek every time they had to part for just a few minutes? It bothered him that he wondered about it, bothered him that Raphael had what _he_ didn’t. It bothered him most of all that he was _letting_ it bother him; until recently he’d avoided such thoughts. 

Now he couldn’t stop them. 

When she hopped to her feet and queried, “What’s up?” he gestured the kitchen area. 

“Kind of a private conversation,” he informed her. Raph sent him a knowing look, aware of what Leo wanted. 

Jocelyn, however, was clueless. She narrowed her eyes on him, suspicious. Then, to Leo’s surprise, she sent Raph a questioning look. 

“Go on,” Raph suggested, inclining his head in the correct direction. 

That just made her _more_ suspicious, but she went ahead anyway. Leo trailed after her. And, he noticed, neither Donny nor Mikey were the least bit interested in what was going on; the two of them were wholly focused on their racing competition. 

Leo and Jo took a pair of seats, opposite each other, at the table. She crossed her arms, regarding him with a measuring look. 

He, himself, had given her that exact same expression numerous times. It felt weird to have it turned back on him. 

He started, “I have something I need to apologize to you for.” 

“Was it that horrible grammar just now?” she quipped. 

He couldn’t help a chuckle. “Jo…” he sighed. 

“Never end a sentence in preposition,” she teased. 

“I know how to _speak_ , Jo,” he retorted. 

She shrugged, gesturing he get on with it, then crossed her arms again. 

He took one more moment to put his thoughts in order, deciding how he was going to handle this, then said, “You’ve probably already noticed by now, but I didn’t have much faith in you at first.” 

Inclining her head, she agreed, “That’s kind of an understatement.” 

Guilt hit him. He hadn’t even given her the benefit of a doubt, actually – which, he admitted, was the one thing he _did_ regret. Underhanded methods aside, he should’ve at least trusted that she wasn’t a god damn villain. 

“Let me start by saying I’m sorry about that,” he began. “You gave me no reason to distrust you, but I did anyway. There’s no one else to blame for that but me and my paranoia.” 

“Caution,” she corrected. 

That caught him off-guard, surprising him. “Caution?” he echoed. 

“Not ‘paranoia’; _caution_ ,” she explained. “I get it. You’re the eldest. It’s your duty to make sure everyone’s always safe, and that includes checking out girlfriends and whatever. I don’t have anything against you for that.” 

That…threw him off. He’d fully expected her to snap and rage at him – but, he admitted, that might be because of _Raph_. The fact that she was with Raphael implied she would have similar mannerisms – and a similar temper. Now Leo realized how much he’d crossed the two; he was confusing Jocelyn for _Raphael_. 

He needed to learn who _she_ was, not just tack her onto Raph. Lesson one, he chided himself. Who she was at fourteen, regardless of what he’d read, was not who she was _now._

And who she was now, it seemed, was “mature”. Far too mature for Raph, Leo thought, amused. 

But his humor didn’t last long. Sobering, he went on, “And now we get to the confession part of this.” Jo quirked her brows as he spoke, intrigued. “I’m sure this won’t surprise you, but I did a background check on you. Looked into your permanent record.” 

Her lips twitched, like she was fighting off a grin. “Anything interesting in there?” she wondered. 

“Nothing worth _too_ much note,” he answered, surprised by her easy acceptance. “The only real red flag was that deal with Desmond.” 

She snorted. “Hey, he had that comin’,” she defended herself. 

Giving her a doubtful look, he said, “You fractured his jaw and knocked out three of his teeth.” 

“So?” she shrugged. 

“So…all he did was slap you,” Leo pointed out. 

At that, surprise colored her features. “Slap?” she echoed. 

Her reaction left him doubting what he’d uncovered. “Uh, that’s what the report said,” he agreed. 

She laughed. “No kidding?” She glanced away, seeming dumbfounded, then corrected, “That was not an open palm. That was a closed fist. His goal was to break something of _mine_ ,” she told Leo, “and all I did was return the favor.” 

There was a sharp, “Wait, _what?”_ from the couch. 

Oh, great, Raphael had heard them. Things were about to get louder… 

Jo looked his way as her beau started over to them, each step determined. Donny and Mikey shared a look as he abandoned them, then turned their attention to Leo and Jo, as well. So much for some privacy, the eldest mused. 

“Desmond _hit_ you?” Raph checked as he reached them, eyes locked on Jocelyn. 

“Nearly,” Jo answered. 

Raph looked…well, quietly infuriated would be a good description. Tense and obviously pissed but keeping his mouth shut. After a moment, he bit out, “You weren’t bruised…” 

“I’m _really_ good at pivoting,” she explained with a little smile. “He barely made any contact. Not enough to bruise, but enough to piss me off.” When Raphael continued to look infuriated, she commented, “Hey, _he_ got the worst of it. You can chill, it’s over.” 

And Leo couldn’t help himself. He retorted, “Never end a sentence with a preposition.” 

She burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, I had that coming,” she admitted. 

Trying to get things back on track, Leo tried to ignore Raph’s presence. To Jo, he added, “So, second part of that confession…”

Her brows hiked up. “There’s a second part?” she checked. 

“I hacked your phone,” he admitted. 

To his surprise, she started laughing again. She dropped her head into her palms, then blurted, “I don’t even have a lock screen!” 

Well….he hadn’t known that. And now that he did he felt just plain _silly_. 

Raphael was as surprised as he was; the two brothers shared a glance as Jocelyn recovered from her giggles. 

Raph ventured, “Jocelyn, seriously? You don’t even lock your phone?”

“No need,” she returned. “I don’t have any sensitive information on there. Anything I get that’s the least bit secretive, I delete. No biggie.” 

That got Leo curious. Having read her messages, he was aware of some of the fights she’d had over texts – she didn’t consider _those_ ‘secretive’? 

He spoke up, asking, “So that fight you had with Lance…no big deal?” 

She shrugged. 

“You insulted his penis,” Leo pointed out. 

“He shouldn’t have sent me a pic of it,” she returned. 

Uh, what? “There were no pictures like that in your phone,” he informed her. 

“Well, no. I deleted it.” 

_Oh, god.  
_

Leo glanced Raph’s way again, absolutely certain he was going to find his brother right back in Rage City. 

He was right. Raphael was now clenching the kitchen’s railing in death grips. As Leo watched, hesitant to say anything (it might trigger Raph), he noticed Jo look his way, as well. 

To her lover, she said, “I saved the pic first and plastered it all over the internet, then deleted it off my phone.” 

Mikey’s raucous laughter echoed over to them, the youngest finding this _hilarious_. 

Leonardo, however, was less than amused. She’d seriously done something _that_ dishonorable? He snapped, “You realize that’s an incredibly cruel thing to do?” 

Swinging her gaze back over to him, Jocelyn arched a brow, regarding him with disbelief. “Seriously?” she demanded. “He sent me an unwarranted picture of his _dick_ and you’re telling me that _my_ actions were cruel?” 

“There’s no excusing what he did,” Leo clarified, “but there’s no excusing what _you_ did, either. Two wrongs don’t make a right.” 

“Okay, thanks, Mr. Cliché,” she retorted, “but the way I see it, if he didn’t want random people seeing his dick he wouldn’t have sent pics of it to random people.” 

“You were his girlfriend, not a random person,” he shot back. “It was a form of intimacy and trust.” 

“We were _not_ at that point yet,” she snapped. “It was a form of masturbation. Guys do that shit to demean girls and prove they have power over females, nothing more. It’s not _intimate_ , it’s the single most shameful thing a guy can do, male entitlement at its worst. _I_ would know; that’s the god damn seventh dick pic I’ve been sent and every single time it was nothing more than a display of power. _You_ don’t get a say cause you’ve never just checked your phone and found a fucking _penis_ on it.” 

Well…that got Leo to shut up and hang his opinions. She had a damn good point there. 

Sitting back in her chair, she went on, “Guys who do that shit don’t give a single fuck about the person they’re sending it to. They don’t care how it makes them feel, if it’ll complicate their lives, nothing. It’s just their way of saying, ‘Hey, I have a penis, that makes me better than you.’ So you’ll have to excuse me if I have no sympathy for the repercussions they face from such actions.” 

There was silence for a long moment, and then Raph spoke up. 

“So he sent you a dick pic,” he said. “Then what?” 

“Well, first,” she began, “he sent me the pic with the caption ‘it’s waiting for you’. This was Christmas Eve, and my troupe was performing The Nutcracker. I was already in costume and backstage with the rest of the first act, less than five minutes before it started. I sent back something like, ‘That’s cute, but maybe don’t whip it out in the audience.’ He said he wasn’t there. He’d promised he would attend, so I was understandably pissed,” she added, aggravated. 

“Then he said ballet was stupid so I said his dick was stupid and turned off the phone,” she went on. “We met up two days later, me to break up and him to bitch and whine. End of story.” 

There was a pause. Then Raph asked, “Want me to throw him off a bridge?” 

“Raph, _no_ ,” Leo snapped – at the same time Jocelyn started laughing again. 

“It ain’t your choice,” Raphael told him. 

“That would be _hilarious_ ,” Jo chuckled, “but no, it’s fine. It’s over. Revenge has already been had.” 

“Not by _me_ ,” Raph countered. 

And Leo groaned, suddenly very regretful he’d even had this conversation. 

“By the way,” Jo said, seeming to read his mind, “I forgive you, Leo.” 

…Well, at least the day wasn’t a total loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[I intended to put this in the full fic somewhere but never found the right spot. Oh well, now it gets its own mini instead!]]


	9. Tell Me Your Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael and Jocelyn have a little chat regarding their sexual fantasies…

**Rating:** R (swearing/sexual references/nudity)

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If she could, Jocelyn would be purring right now. She’d just had a _lovely_ orgasm at the mouth of her lover, and right then he was smattering kisses all over her hips and thighs. For once – _for once_ – she’d managed to get the drop on him, making him come before he’d had a chance to tend to her first. This was her reward. 

Now, as she ran her hands along whichever part of him was in easy reach (his hands, arms, and cheeks were the closest), Raphael gave her a curious look from between her thighs. 

“What?” she wondered. “There something on my face?”

He dropped his head, chuckling. Then, smiling up at her, he retorted, “Nah, jus’ a huge fuckin’ grin.” 

She grinned all the wider. “Gee, I wonder why,” she intoned. 

“Hmm,” he hummed, “my guess? Cause’a _this_ ,” and he punctuated his words by giving her stomach a huge, slobbery lick. 

Jo squealed, squirming. She tried to shove him off her but he held fast, blowing against her skin and making horrifyingly loud farting noises. Normally she wasn’t ticklish, but this got her, tearing loud, outrageous laughs from her. She fought to free herself, but all she succeeded in doing was getting her hands trapped in his. 

When she giggled out, “Uncle, uncle!” he finally stopped, giving her now slimy wet skin a soft nuzzle. “Jesus,” she chided him, “what the hell was that?” 

“You started it,” he chuckled back, crawling up her body to nuzzle her neck. She pouted at him. “Ah, don’t be like that,” he whined, “you had fun. Look, your cheeks are red.” 

“That was from the orgasm,” she informed him. 

He paused, making a show of considering this, then quipped, “Good ‘nuff.” 

She chuckled, amused. Then, looking up at him, she began, “Seriously, what was with that look you gave me?” 

Something devious lurked in his golden-green eyes as he answered, “Jus’ thinkin’ how I’m gonna be remembering this later…” 

A slow grin spread on her face. “Raphael,” she said in a “mom” voice, “are you _suggesting_ masturbation?”

He quirked his brows at her, silent. 

“Naughty,” she chided. 

“Not half as naughty as _you_ ,” he pointed out. 

She hesitated on that, then replied, “Fair point.” 

That seemed to surprise him. “What, seriously?” he checked. 

“ _Seriously_ seriously?” she returned, equally surprised. “Hell yeah. I’m hella naughty. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” 

“Course I noticed,” he told her, “I was jus’…not expecting you t’admit it.” 

“Oh, I’ll admit it,” she promised him. “You wanna talk masturbation? I pleasure myself every day you’re not here, and some days you are.” 

His face hit her pillow with a soft _whump_. She heard him giving strangled laughs, totally caught off guard by her easy confession. And with him so close, she couldn’t resist giving his neck a teasing lick. 

That brought his focus back around, and he speared her with a warning look. Psh, as if she couldn’t handle it if she riled him all over again. If anything, she was now aiming to do so. 

He licked and bit his lips, then ventured, “Tell me what’chu think about.” 

Oh, he just opened Pandora’s box and he had no idea. Grinning at him, she returned, “You first.” 

He sucked in a breath, hesitant. “Jocelyn…” he began, a warning in his tone. 

“Tell me,” she prompted him. “Tell me…tell me the first fantasy you had about me. And when you had it.” When he still hesitated, she snuck in a kiss. “Tell me,” she repeated on a purr. 

He bit his lip again, hard, then gave in. “It was…before we met,” he admitted, glancing away. Ashamed of himself? “I didn’t have a _fantasy_ at first. It was jus’…that night was the first night I caught your scent in the air. Couldn’t get it outta my head.” 

Holy _fuck_ that was hot. She checked, “So, what? You went home and wanked?” 

His head sunk into his shell just a tad. “…Didn’t make it home,” he admitted.

 _Good god._ She could feel her face had lit up, absolutely loving this confession. Leaning in again, she nipped his neck, giving a soft growl. 

He shuddered. Then, inhaling deep, he groaned. “Damn, you smell so good right now…”

“Your fault,” she told him. “In fact, think I’m gonna be envisioning that story next time I touch myself.” 

His head snapped back up, eyes smoldering on her. Then he kissed her, demanding and hungry and deep. Analyzing that kiss was all too easy; he was saying _god fucking shit holy shit that’s so hot fucking fuck_. 

Then he broke the kiss, growling, “Your turn.” 

She opened her mouth to answer, then stopped. “First,” she replied, “I’m curious. When do _you_ think I started fantasizing about you?”

He hesitated, venturing carefully, “Maybe…a month…later?” 

Her brows lifted. “You seriously think _I_ could’ve waited that long?” she checked. 

“…Not anymore,” he answered. 

She laughed. “Okay, let me set the scene for you,” she started. “Day one, I was still kinda in shock, all things considered. Day two I started thinking about you more and more, the way you talked to me and looked at me. Day three, I imagined you eating me out and masturbated to that…” Pausing, she glanced away, delving back the necessary months to that day. Then she finished, “…I think three times.” 

Raphael had gone utterly still, staring at her in shock. Grinning, she gave him a peck on the lips, then said, “Yeah, I didn’t last as long as you did.” 

He choked on a breath, and she ate up the sound. Good to know she could _still_ make him do that. 

“Okay, your turn,” she prompted. “What was your first actual fantasy about me?” 

His shock, coupled with that question, seemed to embarrass the hell out of him. Jocelyn gave him no quarter, sliding her arms around his neck to keep him right here with her. She nuzzled his nose with hers, then murmured, “Your wank material fuels mine, baby. Tell me…” 

He gave another growl, caught somewhere between discomfort and arousal. And then he answered, “It was…the night we met. After I left. I started thinkin’ how pretty ya were, how great ya smelled…and I imagined laying you down on that mattress ya used to keep on the roof, spreadin’ yer legs, an’ fuckin’ yer brains out.” 

 _Hell yes!_ She grinned huge, loving that image. “Ten out of ten,” she approved, “would do.” 

His face was shoved right back into her pillow from that one. 

Ignoring that, she decided to just keep going. “So, second fantasy of mine,” she hummed. She felt him still, even holding his breath – hanging onto every word. So she made sure to paint the scene well, fully intending on getting him riled all over again. 

“I wasn’t sure what I’d find in your pants yet,” she told him, “but I was _sure_ it would feel great…so, in my second fantasy, you came to visit me on the roof. Instead of talking or sitting down, you came right up to me and pinned me against the wall. You kissed me, caressed me, murmured all the things you wanted to do into my ear…”

He groaned, clearly envisioning it. 

“Then,” she went on, lowering her voice, “you lifted me up against the wall…tore my tights apart…pulled my leotard out of the way…” 

He sucked in a breath, shuddering against her. 

“…and you hammered me into that wall like a wild beast.” 

With a sudden shout, Raphael caught her mouth with his, kissing her with frantic need. She met him with equal fervor, loving the way his need was making him clumsy. When he went to pivot his head to another angle, his tongue dragged across her cheek, and she followed to suck on the slippery muscle. 

Unsurprisingly, her plan worked: another swapping of orgasms occurred. His thick tongue made quick work of her, his need and enthusiasm resulting in a climax greater than her previous. Then she returned the favor, absolutely loving how his arousal drove him to the peak with very little effort on her part. 

It was sexy as fuck. 

In the aftermath she hummed, pleasured and pleased, draped over his chest. She ventured, “Your turn…” 

He gave a strangled laugh. “Jocelyn,” he chided. 

“Oh, come on,” she prompted, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “That can’t have been it. You gotta have more than _that_.” 

His eyes said he did, but he was holding his tongue. That only got her even _more_ excited. 

“…Oh, now you _gotta_ tell me,” she demanded, moving up to straddle him. “You can’t give me that ‘I got deep, dark secrets’ look and then not tell me about them.” 

For a moment he held out, resisting. So she bounced on him, jostling him. “Come on!” she begged. “It’s rude to get a girl all nice and wet just to–”

His hand clamped over her mouth, stopping her tirade. “Fine,” he hissed, “but you…you tell _no one_.” 

He was starting to excite the hell out of her, saying stuff like that. Pulling his hand away from her mouth, she gave an enthused nod. “I promise, I swear, I vow, and so on. Now tell me…paint the scene.” 

Another hesitant second passed, and then he started. “I’ve had a lotta fantasies ‘bout you, in my bed…on your back, on your stomach, on your knees…takin’ you in my shower, or on the couch…but the big one? It’s…I’m workin’ out,” he started, and already she was turned on. 

_Oh, please,_ she thought. 

“You come in, pretendin’ to just wanna watch,” he told her, holding her gaze. “But you’re lyin’. You come up and sit on me, jus’ like this,” he said, running his hands from her thighs up to her hips and back. “You start teasin’ me, at first jus’ shiftin’, pretendin’ to try an’ get comfortable. But ya got me hard already, an’ then you start grindin’ on me, tellin’ me I hafta keep up my reps the whole time.”

She could have squealed with delight – that was one of _her_ fantasies, too! She couldn’t smother a huge, excited grin. 

“Before I know it, yer hand’s down my shorts, playin’ with me,” he growled. 

By now she could tell his mind was in the fantasy, not here in reality. And she _loved_ it. The more aroused he became, the more his words slurred, the sound affecting her deeply. 

He continued, “I can’t help grindin’ against you, needin’ more than yer givin’. Yer always wearin’ a skirt in this scene, and ya take me inside you right when I think I’m gonna lose my mind. You keep tellin’ me to keep goin’, start only bouncin’ on me when I do a rep, so I start doin’ it faster. Makin’ you go faster on me…”

Good fucking god, this fantasy was _hot_. Jocelyn was almost desperate to act it out. 

“An’ then I give up. I hang up the weights an’ grab you tight and thrust up inta ya.” Focusing on her again, he growled out, “You scream for me.”

She _would_. 

“Then you come, an’ I come inside you. Yer shudderin’ on me, an’ you tell me you can _feel it_. That I came so hard it’s like another thrust to ya.” 

Honestly, just listening to him talk like that could have made her come. She wet her suddenly dry lips, swallowed. “You realize,” she breathed, “that now we’ve _gotta_ do that.” 

He sucked in a breath, breathing deep and hard. “Y’know we can’t. The camera…”

“Watch me give a shit,” she murmured, shaking her head. 

His eyes went wider. “Ya don’ care?” 

“If I’m wearing a skirt,” she pointed out, “nothing will be visible. So who cares?” 

Raphael looked…overwhelmed, she saw. Unsure how to handle that. “My bros could _watch_ that,” he pointed out. 

A quiver went through her at the idea. “Let ‘em see,” she returned on a purr. 

He took another sharp breath, hissing, “Jocelyn, you’re…you’re a…”

“Kinky motherfucker?” she finished for him. “The technical term is exhibitionist and fuck yes, I am,” she told him, leaning down. “Fuckin’ you where someone else might see…that gets me like nothin’ else.” 

At once his arms banded around her and he flipped them over, pinning her under him. His mouth started devouring her, kissing deep and thorough and needy. But as good as it felt, she noticed a hard edge to the kisses that told her it was a punishment. 

When he finally broke the kiss, he hissed at her, “ _Never_. No one else’s ever gonna see you like that.” 

For his eyes alone. She was for his eyes, alone. And she was surprised to realize that his possessiveness aroused her even more than any other fantasy. He wanted her all to himself, to own every scream and orgasm she gave. 

As long as he kept up this desire, then hell, she was happy to go along with it. 

“Deal,” she breathed. 

His lips lifted in a tiny smile. And then he said, “Your turn.” 

Pleased, she grinned right back. This was going to be a long night…


	10. Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day special!

**Rating:** XXX (swearing/sexual content/nudity)

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Raphael. Was. _Amazing._

Him taking her out for a Valentine’s Day date? Jocelyn was elated – and, well, seduced. Him being romantic got to her in the best way. 

As per usual, they met up in the subway. He’d warned her to have a bathing suit ready, so she was wearing a [**bikini**](https://78.media.tumblr.com/20e142afe7b5bc62908b28fe67fad8e7/tumblr_p2j2mvyuEz1wtuqpio4_r1_1280.png) under her outfit. To that end she chose a light, loose red dress for easy removal, no tights or leggings, and slip-on red heels. She did, however, take her bag with her, slung over one shoulder. 

Other than pulling her hair back into a half-ponytail, she left that alone, too. The final touches were limited to red nail polish, lipstick and eyeliner – nothing that could be easily washed away, which meant little makeup and no jewelry. She’d also chosen to go with her glasses instead of contacts, since contact lenses and chlorinated water were a bad combination. 

She all but jumped on Raphael when she saw him, his hands going straight to her ass to pull her in – and was she crazy, or did he look spiffier than usual? He wasn’t wearing his usual shorts, and his pads and guards were missing. He looked…well, ready to go for a swim, she thought. 

And he smelled _great_ , like he’d scrubbed the hell out of himself just before coming up here. He smelled good to her most of the time anyway, but now she couldn’t help taking a deep inhale through her nose. He did the same with her hair, clearly taking a strong whiff while they were embraced. 

“What’s first?” she asked, eager to get started. 

He stole a kiss, then said, “D’ya want me to tell you, or show you?” 

“Hmm, hard pick,” she mused. 

Chuckling, he took her hand and started to lead her away. To her surprise, the first stop was a theater. He ninja’d them into the building and then into the crawl space between roof and ceiling. They both had to keep hunched to walk through it, and Raphael used his cell phone as a flashlight to guide them. 

She saw immediately that he’d already produced popcorn and drinks, which awaited them alongside a duo of pillows. How he’d managed that, she had no idea. Then, leading her to one of the pillows, he crouched down and pulled aside a floor panel. 

From her place, she could see the screen clearly. It was, in fact, really good – they were far enough back that the screen was hardly angled. Her glasses, mixed with this dark room, meant the screen was still a little fuzzy, but she had a hard time caring about that. 

The two of them laid down on their stomachs, clutching their pillows, and quietly chatted until the movie began. She didn’t know what they were in for until it started, and then she had to chuckle. 

He’d picked an action movie. She couldn’t blame him – neither of them were all that into romance and she’d never once mentioned wanting to see a _romance_ movie. Honestly, his best bet would’ve been taking her to watch a porno, but that would just result in them ignoring the movie to have sex. 

…She might ignore the movie to have sex with him anyway, she thought, sending a naughty smirk his way. 

But, she saw, he was actually absorbed in the film. Chuckling, she refocused, admitting that apocalyptic movies _were_ on her list of favorite types. Absently reaching for the popcorn, she got comfortable and watched. A part of her wanted to pester him, tickling his neck or shell, nudging and talking the whole time – but she behaved. For now. 

And, she admitted, she was having fun. Raphael was a constant source of surprise and admiration for her. She’d thought their first date had been incredible – and, in truth, she doubted he could find a way to top it – but every one since had been amazing, too. They were all different, with him taking them to different places for different kinds of activities. 

Her favorite might be when he decided they should try mini-golf, waited for a day when the park was shut down, disabled the security, turned on the lights, and played freaking mini-golf with her. He had, of course, shown off as well – a few times he’d intentionally missed the hole to make the ball bounce off something or take a weird tour of the green and _then_ get in the hole. 

Without fail, every stroke had been a hole-in-one. But her favorite part had been when he decided to “teach” her, coming up behind her to help guide her swings. Why? 

Because that had ended with him worshiping the fuck out of her, sucking on her neck until she’d grown weak in the knees…then laying her back on the fake grass so he could eat her out. 

She’d _loved_ that date. 

Now she wondered if he was planning on topping it. His directive for her to take a bathing suit had her suspicious… 

By the time the movie was over, she was all the more excited. She hadn’t been able to stem a constant stream of ideas, pondering on what he had planned, and as a result she was now practically bouncing with energy. Her beau, as always, noticed. 

He moved up to his knees, offering her a hand. But instead of getting up, she gave him a naughty grin, using his hand to maneuver her around. Still on her ass, she teased, “Wanna do something bad?” 

His eyes heated at the words – even in this dark chamber, with nothing but the credits to light them up, she could still see it. 

Tugging at his waistband, she ventured, “I wanna suck you off.” 

He hissed in a breath, sitting back down to put distance between her hands and his crotch. “Jocelyn…” he warned. 

“Oh, come on,” she whined. “You did all this for me, let me do this for _you_.” 

“Wouldn’t be fair,” he denied, shaking his head. 

“How about I decide what’s fair?” she returned. “Tell you what: I do this now, and later, whenever I want it, you return the favor.” 

_That_ worked. His naughty, lustful nature couldn’t resist the lure she’d offered. He nodded, shifting to lean back, and let her get to work. She wasn’t quick with it, though – she wanted him shaking with need, so she worked him slowly, licking and sucking up and down his cock in long strokes. 

By the time she took him into her mouth, he was hissing and shivering, obviously having trouble sitting still. As a reward, she finished him off without delay, humming in approval as he came for her. She didn’t let a single drop of his cum go to waste, drinking him down as he growled and grunted, fighting to hold back his reactions. 

Once she stopped, having taken everything he had to give, she gave him a naughty smile. The credits were over by now, but that meant the lights had come on, allowing him to see her more clearly. 

He looked dazed from his orgasm, she saw. 

“So,” she said, now chipper and pleased, as she sat upright. “What’s next?” 

He groaned, head dropping back as he chuckled at the roof above them. “You’re horrible,” he told her. 

“You love it,” she returned. 

When he met her gaze, his eyes said, _I do…I really do._

The next stop was someone’s penthouse balcony. He had to carry her up there, but by now they’d done this so many times it didn’t stress her out anymore. And though it was a hell of a climb, damn near fifty stories, she was happy to let him take his time. It didn’t feel like a waste. After all, he was delightfully warm and she got to feel his _massive_ muscles shifting and flexing the entire time. 

When they reached the top, though, she realized he _must_ have had his brothers involved in this. The balcony was huge, featuring a pool in one half and some tables and chairs on the other. One such table was pulled away from the others and it _clearly_ had covered dishes on top. 

“Okay,” she started, “what the _hell?”_ Turning a look on him, she demanded, “Tell me honestly…are your brothers helping you with this?”

His hesitation to answer told her _yes_. 

“…What’d they ask for in return?” she wondered. 

Sighing, he answered, “Leo wants me to clean and sharpen his blades for a month, Donny wants my help with the van, and Mikey…wants Cassie’s phone number,” he added with a wince. 

Chuckling, Jocelyn told him, “Cassie is _not_ into him, unfortunately.” 

Shrugging, Raphael replied, “I told him that. He says that’s fine, if I can’t get him her number then instead I gotta find some limited edition game for ‘im.” 

Tilting her head, she wondered aloud, “What game?”

“I don’t know,” he deadpanned. 

She couldn’t help it; she laughed hard, amused as ever by his family’s antics. Shaking his head, Raphael came over to her, guiding her towards a chair as she recovered. And, to her amazement, he actually pushed in her chair as she sat down, then brushed her hair aside and kissed her temple before moving to his own chair. 

What the _fuck._

Raphael, the gentleman – two nouns she had never expected to cross. This was the side of him he never showed anyone else, the side of him that was all hers. The side of him, she guessed, that he was having to force, too. 

Even knowing it wasn’t natural for him, it still gave her belly little, nervous quivers. Maybe he was only going so far because it was Valentine’s Day, though; that made more sense. As much as she loved his genteel gestures now, however, she couldn’t wait to have him back to being his gruff, awkward, posturing and lusty as hell self. 

It was, after all, the side of him she’d fallen for. 

Now, as Raphael lifted a hand to grasp the dome covering his dish and nodded towards hers, she did the same. In unison, they lifted the silver pieces –

She burst out laughing all over again when she saw what it was. 

Freaking _pizza_. 

They both had a little personal pizza, probably an 8-inch one at a glance. Steam rose from both as they were uncovered, informing her that they were _very_ fresh and making her wonder when they were baked and how they got here so fast. And, she saw, Raphael’s pizza was a meat trio, while hers was littered with sliced banana and jalapeño peppers. 

He knew her so well, didn’t he? 

She loved it. The setting, her partner, the constant up-and-down rides between thoughtfulness and ridiculousness. It was just so damn typical of him to set up this elaborate date – just to make pizza the meal for it. Honest to god, he was _perfect_. 

And then, as she watched curiously, he reached under the table and retrieved – a 2-litre of Pepsi. 

“Oh, my god!” she caroled, laughing at the night sky. There was a hiss as the bottle was cracked open, Raphael chuckling along with her. As he leaned over and started filling up the _wine_ glasses between them – hers first, she noted – she commented, “You’re such a _dork_.” 

He grinned, his mood far too light to take offense to that. “Thought you’d like this,” he replied. 

“I _do_ ,” she giggled. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, you know that?” 

The quiet, pleased smile he gave her then made her heart flutter. He closed the bottle and put it off to the side, picking up a slice of his pizza and holding it up in the air. 

She did the same, grinning at him. They tapped their slices together, the moment so ridiculously goofy she couldn’t stem another tide of giggles. He didn’t often go this far to make her laugh, but when he did…it touched her. _Nothing_ was better than when her lover acted out entirely for her benefit. 

She’d have to reward him for his service later… 

They talked as they devoured their respective pizzas, Raphael choosing to shove a slice of his at Jocelyn at one point until she relented and took a bite; she returned the favor. The way he shook his head and scrambled for his drink told her he wasn’t a fan of spicy foods. 

In which case he was _not_ going to enjoy kissing her later. When she ate peppers and such, she didn’t feel a “burn” – she tasted delicious, intense flavor. That meant her tongue was going to be coated in that taste for quite a while, and her poor mutant was going to _hate_ it. 

…At least, she’d believed so, right up until he revealed what was in the tiny  dish off to the side. Ginger. Clever bastard freaking thought of everything, hadn’t he? 

Well, she knew he hadn’t counted on the bikini she’d chosen, so she still had _one_ card up her sleeve. 

Once dinner was over, their respective pizzas devoured, she couldn’t wait to reveal that card. She thoughtfully chewed on the ginger for a few moments, keeping a steady, sly look on Raphael the entire time. 

Eyeing her sideways, he commented, “What’chu thinkin’ about?” 

Smirking, she gave him a slow wink. Grinning at her, he got up, arms wide. 

“Whatever you got, hit me,” he challenged. 

She did so, swallowing her bite as she rose to her feet and pulling off her glasses to leave them on the table. She made a show of stretching, going so far as to bend backwards, then leaning sideways and stretching her leg up in the air. Slipping off her heels, she twirled around a few times, fluffing her hair as she went. 

He was already enraptured, she saw. So she turned her back, grasped the hem of her dress, and lifted it up and over her head, revealing her back tattoo in one fluid gesture. She heard him suck in a breath as she dropped the dress off to the side, then finally turned to face him. 

He looked her up and down, his chest moving dramatically with his deep, aroused breaths. He licked the corner of his mouth as he ate up the sight of her. But the moment he took a step towards her, she held up a finger, stopping him in one gesture. 

She pointed at the pool. Raphael looked at it, then back at her, and in that time his gaze burned hotter. He strode to the edge of the pool, slipping off his bandana at the same time, and tossed it aside as he turned to face her. He did the tiniest hop backwards, the water sloshing hard as his weight and girth breached its surface up to his waist. 

Then, reaching out to her, he growled, “Jocelyn…come join me.” 

_Fuck, yes._

She did so happily – and noticing, as she drew nearer, that heat was rising from the water. There was no steam, but she could feel it caressing her skin. A _heated_ pool? Whoever owned this place was living the high life, she mused. 

She dropped into the water the same way he had: with a little hop. He caught her as she fell, too, gentling her descent. He needn’t have bothered; the water already felt _divine_ and she’d barely been in it for a second, and it was only up to her ribs. But, then, she knew he hadn’t caught her because she’d needed it. 

He’d caught her because he wanted his hands on her. 

Feeling an identical desire, herself, she slipped her now wet hands up his shoulders and neck, loving the feel of his skin so much more when it was slick like this. Her hands felt a chill as they went from warm water to cold air, but she found it difficult to care. 

Raphael lifted her then, pulling her flush against him as he slid an arm under her ass. She was all too happy to go, pressing her thighs tight against his sides and slipping her arms around his neck. 

“Mmm,” she hummed, “I like this.” 

His free hand trailed up her back, ghosting along her spine, then came around to her front to brush her hair back over her shoulder. “You look amazing,” he breathed. 

She tightened her arms, bringing them closer. “So do you,” she purred. 

“You feel amazing,” he went on, fingers brushing up and down her neck. 

Tilting her head, she moaned, “So do you…” 

Bringing his lips to her cheek, he growled, “I bet you taste amazing.” 

She pulled his face around by his chin, murmuring, “Why don’tcha find out?” 

Happy to oblige, he tilted his head as he dove in, going full-on tongue from the first touch. And she loved it; every brush of that slick muscle was seductive, drawing her ever deeper into his web. Then, as he kissed her with mounting intensity, she realized they were moving – he was floating back, into the deeper part of the pool, the water rising until only their shoulders were above it. 

Breaking the kiss, she leaned back with a little smirk, watching as he watched _her_ , curious eyes locked on her body. She slipped under the water an inch at a time, trailing her arms over the surface and letting her hair get soaked before using the leverage her legs granted her to duck completely under. She shook out her hair under the water, ensuring it was totally flooded, before rising back out face-first. 

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Raphael admiring her, a wide smirk on his face. He licked his lips; she bit hers, knowing it was an enticement for him. 

“You’re too damn beautiful,” he ground out, green eyes dark with desire. 

Smirking, she replied, “Am I? Maybe I should cut my hair, then–”

He cut her off with a furious kiss, his hand on her neck keeping her where he wanted her. He devoured the hell out of her mouth, stealing her breath and making her lips tingle from sensation overload. 

Then, drawing back with a lewd _smack_ , he hissed, “Don’t ever cut your hair.” 

He loved her curls, then. Noted. Grinning at him, she teased, “What if I want to change things up? I mean, it’ll grow back, you know–”

“Don’t. Ever. Cut. Your. Hair,” he repeatedly firmly. 

Good god, that tone made her nethers quiver. Relenting, she chuckled, “Okay, geez, chill out. It’s not that big a deal.” 

He reached over her shoulder, petting and then grasping her heavy locks. Pulling the mass of it over her shoulder, he ran his hand down her hair – and her breast, drawing a little jolt and soft gasp out of her. 

“Don’t ever change,” he told her, voice thick with emotion. “I love you just like this.” 

And Jocelyn _melted_ , arms banding around him as she nuzzled into his neck. “I love you so much, baby,” she murmured. 

His arms wound around her in return, giving her a tight, hot embrace. Then, teasingly, he quipped, “Prove it.” 

_This little motherfucker…_

They started playing then. She pulled away from him, pretending to be trying to avoid him, and Raphael followed, eyes constantly locked on her. Every time she caught his eyes, he was still giving her the same sexy smirk, enjoying the game. When she tried to be clever and swam under the water for greater speed – her strong legs made her a damn good swimmer – she breached the water again to turn and find he wasn’t there. 

She felt and heard nothing, but suddenly his arms were around her, and she squealed with delight. He’d managed to swim _around_ her – while hardly making any waves – that freaking fast? God damn _ninja!_

Or would that be ‘god damn turtle’? Her research _did_ say his particular breed were semi-aquatic…

Once he started nipping at her neck, she found it hard to care. He was incredible; that was enough. 

For a moment she was lost to the pleasure of his bites, and that moment was all it took for him to move them to the edge. She suddenly found herself being spun around and pinned against the wall, her lover giving her such deep kisses it left her quivering. 

_Fuck,_ he was too good at this. 

And she was torn. She wanted to let him lavish her, but she also wanted to lavish _him_. She wanted to fist and stroke his cock while he held still, hands on the edge of the pool. She wanted to direct him to eat her out. She wanted to bite into that neck of his and make him shudder, and she wanted to take him inside her and ride out the pleasure he offered. 

As she hesitated over her next move, he made the decision for her. He slipped an arm around her back, lifting her up just enough to bring his mouth to her breasts. As he started licking and sucking at them through her top, she shuddered, _super_ turned on by how sexy that was. And it only got better when he reached behind her neck and undid the hook holding it up, letting the cloth fall down so he could tend to them directly. 

He had her moaning in seconds, clutching his head and intentionally scratching at his shell. It was only fair – he was making her shudder and gasp, so she was returning the favor. The only problem with her brilliant plan was the fact that her breasts were more sensitive than his shell. Between his mouth, hands, and growling (thanks to her scratching), she was soon lost to the delicious sensations. 

Saying it _aroused_ her would be putting it mildly; with every second she grew increasingly desperate for more. And when he kept staunchly refusing to touch her where she needed it, she clamped her thighs down on him and started grinding against his plastron. 

If he wouldn’t pet her where she wanted it, then _she_ would. And the pleasure that sang through her at just the first motion made her convulse, crying out. 

Raphael’s body _instantly_ went rigid, and he sucked in a breath so sharp she gasped at the sudden cold rush against her nipple. Hot breath fanning over her flesh, he intoned, “Needin’ me that bad?” 

Fuck yes, she was. 

Stilling her motions, she met his gaze and breathed, “Make me come.” 

She knew he would. He could never resist when she asked like that; no matter how much he might _want_ to tease, the moment she asked him to finish her off, he was _on it_. 

Jocelyn still wasn’t expecting quite how he did it, though. Instead of lifting her up or laying her back, he let her feet touch the floor – the water now up over her shoulders – and then dove under, himself. Eyes wide, she watched with disbelief as he brought his mouth between her legs. 

Oh, god. She was so turned on by the very _notion_ of what was about to happen that she knew she wouldn’t last, even if she’d wanted to. Her lover just spread her legs, hoisting them up over his shoulders, pulled the crotch of her bottoms aside, and set in. 

She knew two things at once: she couldn’t feel any slickness from his licks, submerged as she was – and she was _totally okay with that_. As his tongue got to work on her, the sensations had her quivering incessantly. Her hands gripped the edge of his shell as he licked and sucked at her flesh, giving little scratches every time he did something particularly well. 

This was both intentional and involuntary on her part; the latter because _good fucking god_ , it felt amazing, and the former because it was the only way she could think to communicate with him right then. 

Granted, she could hardly think at all…

In no time he had her shifting and grinding on him, mind swimming from his ministrations. When she felt him start working a finger inside her, that was it – she was lost. Shuddering, hips thrusting, she came for him. And the fact that she was submerged in this lovely warm water only made it all the better, her whole body flushing with pleasure as her walls clamped down on that intrusive digit. 

He gentled as she came down, nuzzling her belly and kissing her thighs, but he never came back to the surface. He also never withdrew his finger; instead, he just gave little, slow thrusts with it. And she was surprised to recognize that despite the fact that she was under water, her lubricant wasn’t washing away. The more that finger worked her, the more clearly she could feel it. 

Her hands absently pet Raphael’s shell as he continued this sweet torture, constantly informing him of how good it felt. Soon enough her hips were shifting again, actively seeking to be filled. Responding to her need, he started sucking on the sweet spot on her inner thigh, curling his finger inside her to tease her g-spot. 

Oh, _hell_. That combination had her convulsing and clenching, gasping for breath in between cries of pleasure. Her nails _raked_ up his shell, digging in harder than she’d ever done before; her lover _shouted_ , the sound audible above the water as a flurry of bubbles floated to the surface. 

For a moment they stared at one another, the water separating them, and then Raphael rose up out of the water. Despite his several minutes under, he didn’t gasp for breath. He just speared her with a look of desperate hunger, nostrils flaring as he took harsh breaths, and then yanked her against him. 

He kissed her _hard_ , clutching her so tight she could barely breathe. And Jocelyn loved it, loved his need and his lust. For several long moments his tongue toured her mouth, flicking and teasing and making her shiver from want. Then he broke the kiss, spun her around, and planted her hands on the edge of the pool. 

One hand dove down between her legs, snaking around her waist as it went, his fingers immediately getting to work. He bit and sucked at her neck as he did so, her whole body feeling like she’d been lit on fire from his attentions. 

When she went to touch him, though, he caught her hand and put it right back where it was. 

“Baby…?” she ventured, just a little uncertain about this. It was difficult to focus on her goal when his finger was working her so well, thrusting and pressing and gently loosening up her walls all the while. 

“Can’t have ya distractin’ me,” he growled against her flesh. “Keep ‘em here.” He punctuated his words with another nip, his free hand starting to caress her breasts. 

_No problem,_ she thought, head starting to spin from his delicious petting. By now she knew what he was doing – he always took the time to make sure her body was ready for his. That usually meant working one – then both – of his fingers inside her, preparing her to take his thick cock. Right now all she wanted was to reach back and stroke it, giving him some of the same attentions he was giving her…but if he wanted her hands out of the picture, that probably meant he was a hair’s breadth from snapping. 

Best not to push him, then. 

She was crying out and undulating to his thrusting fingers quickly, her body shivering despite the warm water coating her. They were both getting carried away, and she realized this when she recognized that both his fingers were inside her, her walls having no trouble at all with that much intrusion. 

“Baby,” she gasped, “baby, I’m ready…give it to me!” 

By now she estimated he’d given her at least two hickies, and when he pulled away from her neck another sharp jolt told her it was at ‘three’ now. She spun to face him at the same time he pulled her around, all but jumping into his arms. One hand clutched at his neck as her other dove down, finding him deliciously hard and ready. Quickly – and violently – jerking the trunks out of her way, she fisted his thick cock and guided it inside her. 

God, he was even hotter than the water, his dick warming her in a way the pool never could. He braced one hand on the edge of the pool as she shifted and pivoted her hips, working his heavy size inside her. His opposite hand clutched at her hip, clearly _wanting_ to just yank her down and spear her with his length. 

She wanted it, too; had to remind herself to _not_ do that – the few times she had, she’d always regretted it. She had to take him easy or she’d be paying for her overzealous actions later. 

Besides, working him in slow always felt so fucking _great_ , pleasure surging through her at every increment gained. By the time he hit home she was moaning, panting, and utterly lost. Knees gripping his sides as tight as she could, she braced her hands on his shoulders and started fucking him. 

The first few delves of that cock inside her had her shuddering, feeling so good it was actively numbing her mind. She wound her arms under his, clutching at his shoulders and pressing her face against his neck, and lost all control. Her hips worked him in strong, needy thrusts, her body steadily tensing with each little sensation. 

Raphael was losing it, too; she heard the steady crush of concrete in his hand, yet it didn’t frighten her. If anything, his need and his growling and his panting made her even hotter. 

She wanted more. Lifting her face to look at him, she gasped out, “Fuck me, baby!” 

She _saw_ his pupils dilate further at those words, leaving only the tiniest ring of green still visible. Both his hands grasped her by the hips – a delicious shudder ripped through her – and then _he_ took charge. He thrust into her as he jerked her against him, and the pleasure had her eyes rolling back. She arched, hands gripping his arms, as he took her. 

His hard, rapid fucking finished her off in _moments_ , tearing a scream from her as her body convulsed and shook against him. Then, gasping for breath through her lingering orgasm, she hung on as he plowed the hell out of her. He groaned and growled, fingers flexing against her, as he followed her down. 

Feeling his hot cum flowing inside her always felt incredible, drawing a pleased moan from Jocelyn. This time it seemed to be ever better, with her body wrapped in this delicious warm water. She could feel every pulse of his cock, every lance of his thick cum, as he filled her. 

Her toes had gone numb, but everything else was hypersensitive, making her feel every little ripple in the water and shiver of her lover. Her heart was pounding so hard it was a wonder it was still in her chest, able to feel her pulse in every inch of her. There was even a tiny ache in her abdomen, the result of her powerful orgasm. 

As she came down from her high, Raphael holding her flush against him and nuzzling her face with his, her mind recalled her earlier thought regarding their previous dates. 

Yup, she mused, this was _way_ better than their mini-golf date. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she purred. “This was _amazing_.” 

Raphael gave her a devious little smirk. “Oh, it’s not over yet,” he growled. 

Her calming heart sped right back up again.


	11. Relax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jocelyn has had an exhausting day; Raphael helps her relax. Later, she returns the favor. :3 ((Takes place anytime during the summer, before her injury.))

**Rating:** G

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Sometimes Raphael showed up without warning, opting to surprise Jocelyn. This was one of those days; they had no plans for him to come over, and this was largely because her dance class had run late. She’d ended up spending an extra two and a half hours on her feet, and by the time he’d called her, she’d informed him that she was too tired to hang out.

Now, as she stretched out on the couch and idly flipped between TV channels, he strode into the room, having let himself in through her window. She usually left it unlocked just for him, so he never had trouble getting inside.

She chuckled when she saw him. Batting her eyes, she teased, “Just couldn’t resist seeing me, huh?”

“Yup,” he agreed easily, leaning in to give her a kiss before pulling her feet up so he could sit down with her.

Snagging the remote, she asked, “Anything you wanna watch?”

“There’s a Knicks game tonight,” he suggested. When she groaned, he chided, “Hey, I coulda been there right now. My bros are.”

“Whoop-dee-do,” she deadpanned.

“You asked what I wanna watch,” he pointed out.

She huffed. “Fine.” Then, as she changed channels, she muttered, “Least I’ll get to see some hot, sweaty guys.”

Raphael lifted her leg to nip at her and she squealed, kicking to get free of his grip. As she laughed and swatted at him, he started tickling her inner thigh, leaving her helpless for several moments.

It ended when she cried, “Enough, uncle, uncle!”

He chuckled as he ceased, rubbing her arm affectionately as she caught her breath. “So, what did we learn?” he teased.

“That you can’t take a joke,” she shot back.

Once more he lifted her leg, miming a bite, and she struggled to evade him; laughing now, he let go, attention turning to the game. And, Jocelyn soon learned, he was pretty animated when watching sportsball games. He would yell, cheer, throw his arms, and shit-talk the opposing team.

It successfully got _her_ into the game as well, making her enjoy something she never had before. It surprised her as much as it made sense – she’d gotten _him_ to enjoy ballet, and now he was getting _her_ to enjoy basketball. This was love, she thought, learning to like what your lover did because you were suddenly able to see it through their eyes.

Though she remained laying on the couch the entire game, she still got into it, Raphael’s reactions telling her when something great (or bad) just happened to her untrained eyes. And her mother got home halfway through the game, also late; she’d spent dinner with a few coworkers. Mother and daughter had a brief chat, and then Cecilia retired to bed.

After the game ended, she swapped to a movie. She happened to see Girls Just Want To Have Fun was just starting and couldn’t help watching it. Funny enough, she only knew it because her father owned a copy of it, so as a girl she’d seen it many times. She’d always loved it.

Once more was never a bad thing.

It made her happy, but it was also getting late. Tie that with her long day and she was starting to nod off. And then, completely out of nowhere, her lover started giving her legs and feet a massage. She sent him a shocked look; he just gave her an indulgent smile.

“You’re missin’ the movie,” he told her.

Good freaking god. What did she do to deserve this amazing being? She’d never had her feet rubbed before and it was successfully making her melt into the sofa. She moaned as he worked, and she just knew that pleased the hell out of him. She didn’t have to look to know he was smirking at her.

“What the hell,” she whined. None of her previous boyfriends had ever done this for her.

“Problem?” he asked, amused.

“Yeah,” she pouted, “you’re too good to me.”

As his thumb passed under each of her toes, he replied, “I just barely got started.”

 _Christ._ Who was this guy?! Even as she was stunned by him, though, she was also ready to beg for more. Wiggling her foot, she directed, “Prove it.”

He grinned at her.

It was incredible. Every firm stroke on the sole of her foot seemed to reach all the way up to her neck, relaxing her entire body. In no time she was barely hearing the movie anymore, her eyes slipping closed as the steady massage kept up. Little by little she was falling asleep.

Some time into it she felt him pet her neck and cheek, but by now she was too relaxed to react to it. She wanted to encourage him, tell him how great it felt, show her gratitude – she couldn’t even move her arms. Her head felt dizzy and muddy, her body too limp to muster up any moves. She was on the brink of falling asleep, that weird point where you couldn’t distinguish between what was real and imagined.

She thought she felt him run a finger over her lips, thought she kissed that digit. The only thing she was sure of was that the movie continued on to the climax. When she heard the dance-off song, Technique, she had the drowsy realization that Raphael had sat through the whole movie.

[ _Technique, it’s in your fingers_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUwNUQWWDY4)   
[ _There’s magic in your touch_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUwNUQWWDY4)   
[ _Technique, you make love linger_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUwNUQWWDY4)   
[ _You’ve got so much_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUwNUQWWDY4)

It was too bad she was too far gone to really enjoy the film. Normally she moved the couch out of the way and attempted to dance alongside Janey. She couldn’t help it; the movie got her _pumped_.

Usually.

This time she was floating along in semi-consciousness, unable to focus on anything for more than a second or two before her muddy mind wandered somewhere else.

And even now the petting kept up, leaving her with blank spaces in her awareness. One moment she was dazedly listening to the end credits song, the next she felt kisses on her wrist, and the next she was vaguely aware that she was being carried.

She felt a kiss at her neck, a murmured, “Sweet dreams,” heavy warmth wrapping around her. It took her a long time to realize she was in bed now, that she’d been tucked in. By the time she managed to lift her head to look for her lover, he was gone.

She wanted to pout. Instead, she smiled, snuggling into her fluffy blanket. Her feet were still tingling from the attention he’d given them, and it left her feeling weirdly giddy in the midst of her lethargy.

She was _so_ blessed to have him.

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Sometimes Jocelyn surprised (and impressed) the heck out of Raphael. In this case, they were hanging out in the Lair, chatting, on the couch, when she suddenly started scratching at the high back of his shell. The vibrations felt _incredible_ , enough so that he wasn’t about to try and stop her.

Still, he was a little stunned she’d just decided to have at it. “What’s this?” he wondered aloud.

Smiling at him, she replied, “It’s called ‘affection’. Look it up.”

Smart-ass. He leaned towards her, giving her a swift kiss, then warned, “You’re askin’ for trouble if ya keep this up.”

Smirking, she gave a harder scratch.

He shuddered. Ohh, that one had felt _good_. And since she clearly wasn’t going to stop, he decided he was going to enjoy it. He tackled her into the couch, wringing a series of outrageous laughs from her, and nuzzled into her belly. Giggling, she put both her hands to work then, rubbing and scratching at him.

He groaned at the feel. Shifting, he folded one leg under him, planting the other on the ground, and proceeded to snuggle into her hips. He was careful not to put too much weight on her, opting to keep his arms pinned as a form of support, but he was also _not_ planning on moving anytime soon.

And it was amazing, how she pet him. She experimented, trying out taps and circles and zig-zags, following the jagged lines of his patterns and getting right into the crevices between plates. He couldn’t help responding to everything, his voice letting her know what he liked even when he tried to keep them back.

Honestly, this was going to put him to sleep. It was so relaxing, so calming, he was having trouble reminding himself that he _shouldn’t_ fall asleep on her. His weight was, shall we say, _high_ , and she was just a human. Still, the longer she kept this up the harder it was to remember to stay awake.

She shifted every so often, looking for the most comfortable position, and eventually she found it. His chin on her thigh, she was sitting up, and this almost gave her total reach of his shell. She seemed to take advantage of that, finding all the right places to keep the pleasurable tingles coming.

He groaned and grunted as she worked him, steadily turning into a big, heavy, green puddle. Soon he was reduced to semi-consciousness, aware of the constant pets to his shell but unable to react to any of it.

Then Jocelyn started singing to herself and it served to make it even _harder_ for him to stay awake. He secured his arms around her in a final act of possessiveness, unwilling to let her go, and that was the last he knew.

[ _Yeah, you’re all I never knew I needed_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fj-VODFNeCU)   
[ _And the heart, sometimes it’s unclear why it’s beating_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fj-VODFNeCU)   
[ _And love, if your wings are broken_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fj-VODFNeCU)   
[ _We can brave through those emotions too_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fj-VODFNeCU)   
[ _‘Cause I’m gonna stand by you_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fj-VODFNeCU)

Time seemed to race past him, and somehow every time he moderately came back to consciousness, she was _still_ petting him. She’d even gone from his shell to massaging his shoulders and neck, too, leaving him positive – in his lethargic state of mind – that he was never going to be able to extricate himself from the couch.

What did he do to deserve her…?

Eventually he became aware that his brothers were back from their patrols. He knew this because he started hearing clatter, followed by Jocelyn pausing her ministrations to aggressively hush the intruders. At that moment, a part of him desperately wanted to avoid getting spotted in this position, but his little lover’s affections had left him incapable of doing anything more than giving an annoyed grunt at the lack of petting.

Then he heard Mikey tisking, blurting, “Man, why you gotta show off like that? _Hey!”_ That last was a shocked exclamation; judging from how Jocelyn had jerked, she’d thrown something at him.

If Raphael had had any strength left in him, he would have started laughing. His girlfriend was defending him – and this moment – from interruption. He wished he could’ve at least opened his eyes to see how his brothers were reacting to the fierce, possessive woman he was cuddling. He’d bet it would be hilarious.

Alas, he could do nothing more than huff when she still didn’t return to her ministrations. That succeeded in rerouting her attention, and quickly the delicious sensations returned. Raphael melted all over again, feeling like he was sinking into the couch.

What followed was several blackout moments interrupted by brief bouts of awareness as his lover shifted, and ending with him realizing she’d leaned onto his shell and fallen asleep, herself. It made him smile.

He should probably take her to bed, then, and certainly he should call her mother to let her know Jocelyn had fallen asleep, but…

…he still couldn’t move. If he’d had the strength, he might’ve chuckled. Oh, well, then. He’d deal with the consequences when they were both nice and rested.


	12. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jocelyn has a job at a haunted house for Halloween.

**Rating:** PG (horror and gore references)

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This wasn’t the first time the guys had gone out on Halloween, but it _was_ the first time they had a specific destination. The four of them dressed up in a series of inflatable T-Rex costumes – with help from April, they even had one in [each](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi5.walmartimages.com%2Fasr%2F46f0c9a6-8402-4e95-97dc-ea1dc255c0e5_1.a03d841ac89d3da68e9922e9174d2532.jpeg&t=YmQzNjY0MWRhZWYxNjQ4NDY0MWU5NTAyYTllYmQzOTY0MmFhMGE0NSw5c29BTnNISA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172073380354%2Fthe-dancer-mini&m=0) [of the](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fimages-na.ssl-images-amazon.com%2Fimages%2FI%2F618XP91peSL._UX385_.jpg&t=OGJmNTU4MWQzNzFkNjNiY2VkNzUwMGEwNTExZWM4ODY4ZTVkMDY2MCw5c29BTnNISA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172073380354%2Fthe-dancer-mini&m=0) [guys’](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fae01.alicdn.com%2Fkf%2FHTB1tlusSVXXXXasaXXXq6xXFXXXC%2FAdult-T-REX-inflatable-Dinosaur-Costume-Dino-Jumpsuit-Halloween-Cosplay-Fancy-Dress-Halloween-Costume-for-Women.jpg_640x640.jpg&t=ZTU3ZTRjOWQ4ZjljNDY3ZDBmOWYyMDJhMWJkZjNmZmVlYzM2MjNhNCw5c29BTnNISA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172073380354%2Fthe-dancer-mini&m=0) [colors](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fae01.alicdn.com%2Fkf%2FHTB1iDV2PVXXXXcKaXXXq6xXFXXXs%2FHalloween-DINOSAUR-Inflatable-T-Rex-Jurassic-Park-World-Adult-Costume-Jurassic-Party-Dress-Stage-Christams-Colors.jpg&t=M2QyZjE5YmI0Mjg0MDEwNWEzOTAyOGNjOGMxZGQ4ZGQxMmJmN2M4MCw5c29BTnNISA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172073380354%2Fthe-dancer-mini&m=0). They’d planned this ahead of time, thanks mainly to Mikey declaring how badly he wanted one of “those dino costumes” cause it was in _his_ color. As it turned out, those costumes came in _every_ color, and as soon as he found out about that, he’d been _incorrigible_ in badgering his brothers about it. Eventually he’d gotten them all to agree. 

And now the day had come. 

The costumes had to be altered a bit: the face screen was blocked off and a new one was made in the mouth of each costume to accommodate the guys’ heights, and the arms were carefully stretched to deal with Raph and Leo’s _really_ thick forearms. They all wore shoes this time, too – even Raph, who usually went barefoot. 

Mikey couldn’t stop laughing as they got ready, having _way_ too much fun already. He was excited, and for good reason – this was the second time they were going out, on Halloween, in costume, _in public_. Not only that, but thanks to Raph’s girlfriend’s job for the season, they had a destination: her haunted house. 

Or, more accurately, her school’s haunted house. She’d shown the guys pictures of her costume from last year (it was _great_ ), and this year she promised it was going to be even better. 

Mikey didn’t know her job for the attraction, though – only Raph did, and he’d zipped his lips about it. And so, once dressed, they headed out, walking the streets in their color-coded inflatable T-Rex costumes. 

Almost immediately they were getting chuckles, cheers, and requests – thanks to the meme, everyone expected guys in T-Rex outfits to be athletic and silly. Lucky for the random New Yorkers, they _were_. They only showed off insofar as a human could’ve, though, doing flips and parkour and such. More than a few times they even got asked to pose for photos. 

They all had a great deal of fun. Even Leo kept chuckling, enjoying himself as the night dragged on. 

And, eventually, they made it to Jocelyn’s school. A huge section of the schoolyard had been cordoned off, a tent erected, and a makeshift building assembled. There was one entrance and exit, with a line of people waiting to enter. Judging from the screams audible all the way from the street, they’d done a good job of it. 

They chatted as they stood in line with other costumed people, waiting for their turn to enter. Leo none-too-subtly reminded the others to keep a handle on themselves – they were trained to react to sudden attacks with counters, and that could end badly here. The last thing they needed was to accidentally knock out an actor. 

When it was their turn, they gave tickets – which Jo had provided for them – and entered. They were warned that the actors will never _touch_ them, then allowed inside. 

Though Mikey was initially looking specifically for Jocelyn, he was quickly sidetracked by the atmosphere in here. In a lot of ways it was very typical: smoke on the ground, low, flickering lights,glow-in-the-dark designs on the walls, fake blood everywhere. It smelled very _unnatural_ – likely all the paints and such they had to use to build this place. 

And the “spooks” were just as typical. First they were chased by a guy with an axe – who quickly resorted to idly following them whilst dragging said axe and grunting when the guys didn’t run. Chuckling, the brothers moved on, discovering that the place was something of a one-road maze with twists and turns. Most of the scares from here on out were on the opposite side of plastic windows. 

There was a nurse with a syringe the size of her arm “stabbing” an unwilling victim repeatedly while giving odd, broken laughs. There was a plastic surgeon coming at a woman with a scalpel, the woman crying and screaming to be freed; the next window showed an almost identical woman with tear-tracks down her face and several long, winding lines of stitches along her face. 

Raph gave an annoyed grunt at _that_ one. 

Bats and spiders dropped down from above on strings; a guy with a fake chainsaw slammed into one of the plastic windows, revving sound effects blaring; at one point an outhouse door swung open, revealing a skeleton within that “peed” on the guys’ costumes as they went by. It was more chuckle-worthy than scary, overall, though the occasional shriek before and after them showed that the spooks were very effective against your average human. 

Then they reached the last room and almost immediately they spotted Jo, looking like she’d stepped out of a black and white movie. This was clearly the exit area, the last stop before leaving the attraction. The room was much bigger than the others, with room to stand around if your group had been separated, but more so, it gave Jocelyn room to dance. 

She had pale, almost-white painted skin, her hair dyed black, and wore only shades of grey. Her outfit and tutu were black, with wisps of tattered white cloth and ribbons hanging from her. Her skin bore “cracks” and splits, as well, her “bones” visible through some of them and gears through others. Add to that her creepy-ass doll mask and she was right at home in the haunted house. 

Her story, such as she’d told the guys, was that “she” was a ballerina who’d died prematurely. Her father then used a mixture of science and magic to reanimate her, but failed to return her soul with her body – resulting in ballet being the only thing she “knew”. A good portion of her innards had been removed and replaced with clockwork, as well, leading to her motions being robotic and eerily still. A few such gears jutted from her back, though for obvious reasons none of them moved. 

She was carrying a small basket of candies, as well, and as Mikey watched, she jerkily danced to a young child, leaned down, and offered the basket. The little eight-year-old (dressed up as Spider-Man) happily took one. Once he moved on, leaving through the exit, she popped back up and started twirling in place, ignoring the dinosaur-turtles. 

She _had_ to know it was them, though, so Mikey strode over and went to take a piece of candy. 

Suddenly she pivoted, pulling the basket from his reach, ripped off her mask (her face underneath was _gory_ , with one of her “eyes” hanging out of the socket, stitches across her hairline and trails of blood from her hair down to her chin) and _screamed_ at him. The surprise of it had him shrieking in response, jerking back from her. Then, as if nothing had happened, she replaced her mask with robotic motions and went back to her spins. 

Raphael was doubled over laughing. 

Scowling, Mikey gave him a shove, embarrassed by how easily he’d been spooked. “Funny, Raph,” he mocked. It didn’t help that he could hear Donny and Leo chuckling, too. It was just a good thing none of them could see through the mesh masks in their costumes’ necks – he was _pretty_ sure he was blushing right then. 

Then they had to move aside as another group reached them, including four adults and a trio of young kids in supervillain costumes. They hesitated when they spotted Jo (and laughed when they saw the brothers). But when the ballerina spun up to them and leaned down, offering the basket, the kids hesitantly each took a piece. 

Then one of the adults reached for one and Mikey grinned wide, readying for the spook – 

Sure enough, once more Jocelyn ripped off the mask and _screamed_ at the adult; all three kids screamed in response, jumping back, and even the adults jolted. As quickly as it happened, it was over; Jo was back to her pirouettes in another heartbeat. And, once again, Raph was cackling. 

Laughing nervously (obviously embarrassed, themselves), the adults guided the kids out of the door. 

Raph chose then to come up to Jocelyn, catching her mid-spin, and said, “That was _awesome_.” 

“Shh, I’m working,” was her quiet response, nudging him back. 

He didn’t budge. “You scared Mikey,” he told her. 

The youngest pouted – not that anyone could see it. 

Jo just chuckled, then spun out of Raph’s (tiny dinosaur) arms. “Go on, guys. And Mikey,” she added, getting his attention. “I’ll save a piece of candy for you, okay?” 

He just grumbled, waving an arm at her. 

The group moved outside then, though they didn’t go far. They hung out and messed around for a long while, performing tricks when asked (and sometimes not), posing for pictures and the like, and sharing laughs every time they heard another of Jocelyn’s screams. 

It was surprising how many people left the haunted house with pale faces and wide eyes, even counting how many of them wore makeup along those lines. The attraction was clearly doing its job, with Jocelyn as the final, unexpected scare before leaving. 

Then Mikey commented, “I wonder how many people don’t go for the candy and never learn Jo’s real role?” 

Shrugging, Donny answered, “I could guess based on screams heard versus people leaving, but it’d be a small sample size–”

“Or we could _ask_ Jocelyn,” Raph interrupted. 

“Or that,” Donny agreed. 

Leo, chuckling, chided, “Guys, no fighting. For once.” 

“Uhh, that might be kinda hard,” Mikey began, pointing off to the side. They all turned their attention that way and saw, very clearly, some thugs in costumes shoving and harassing a couple of girls in costume. 

Inclining his head, Raph said, “Let’s go to work.” 

Trying to avoid potentially damaging their costumes, the guys approached with Leo in the lead, gesturing for attention. 

“Hey, hey, whoa, enough,” he started, successfully breaking up the assault. 

Mikey and Donny waved the girls over; teary-faced and clearly scared, they did so, hiding behind the costumed dinosaurs. 

The trio of thugs scoffed and postured, each one dressed like a variant of the Insane Clown Posse (and, like, those guys were still _popular?_ Haha, what?)

One of the guys snapped, “Ruinin’ our fun, dino? Best move aside.” 

Raph took up point beside Leo, two veritable walls of muscle between the girls and the thugs. “Look,” the red T-Rex began, “we get it. Tonight’s the night assholes like you think you might just get away with shit.” 

“Thing is, no night is safe for guys like you,” Leo continued. “Now, to be honest, we don’t want to ruin our costumes, so all you have to do is promise to play nice and we won’t have to beat some sense into you.” 

All three guys started laughing. “Can you believe these lizards?” one of them chortled. 

Mikey couldn’t help smirking – those idiots were _almost_ right. “Reptiles,” he corrected. “Not ‘lizards’.” 

“Really,” Donny sighed, “did you learn _nothing_ in school?” 

That got their attention on Donny, clearly zeroing in on his voice. Honestly, it was hilarious watching people focus on Donny – they figured his voice implied he was a total dweeb, and they were always totally wrong. The brothers usually let the genius handle people like that; the irony was worth sitting on the sidelines for such battles. 

Obviously thinking something along those lines, one of the clowns gestured him. “You got somethin’ to say, purple?” 

“Don’t think we’ll take it easy on you just cause you’re a nerd,” another added. 

Arms up, Donny mocked, “Oh, no, _please_ don’t take my lunch money, sirs!” 

Mikey snickered. 

The three guys tried to dart between Leo and Raph, running for Donny; though the eldest brothers stepped aside to let them, Raph still clotheslined one of them. The guy did a backflip, landed face-down, and was out. The girls shrieked and backed up, and Mikey made sure to step in front of them. 

Then, in a single blow each, Donny punched one and backhanded the other, both dropping on the spot. Neither of them were _out_ , but they were groaning and on the ground now. 

Crouching down to their level, the purple dinosaur commented, “Now, because I expect you’re too stupid to get the lesson, I’ll spell it out for you: don’t assume someone’s a wimp just cause of his voice. If anything, you should assume absolutely everyone can kick your ass, then act accordingly. Make sure to pass this on to your friend. I postulate he’ll be up in about three hours.” 

While Donny talked to the semi-conscious, wounded clowns, Mikey turned to the girls. Unable to stop a thread of flirtatiousness, he began, arms wide, “Sorry you had to see that, ladies. But don’t worry. You’re safe now, no worries.” 

The girls – one **[a witch](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.costumeslife.com%2Fimages%2FTeen%2F04032-Tween-Sassy-Witch-Costume-large.jpg&t=YTZjNjU2ZGYxMWY0ODIxOTE2MzBhZGMwMTE2MjBkZTJhY2I3NDM0Yiw5c29BTnNISA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172073380354%2Fthe-dancer-mini&m=0)** , the other **[a cat](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi5.walmartimages.com%2Fasr%2Fad96240a-4a6a-44c9-8cae-78eaeb5ffc3d_1.924c20bfcfd1eb0196b0a6dc012e8624.jpeg%3FodnHeight%3D450%26odnWidth%3D450%26odnBg%3DFFFFFF&t=OWU4MzE5OGNlZDE5Y2RkYTUxMzY5MGNjMzczNTA4ZjhhMGExMDY0ZCw5c29BTnNISA%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172073380354%2Fthe-dancer-mini&m=0)** – blinked in surprise, stunned. Then the witch began, “O-oh, thanks?” 

Leo stepped up to them, saying, “Whatever you were doing, wherever you were going, you can pick up where you left off. Rest assured these clowns aren’t going to be bothering anyone else tonight.” 

The girls shared a glance, the cat venturing, “How…purrrrrrfect?” 

The witch snickered; Mikey snickered. 

Encounter over, the girls hurried away – after taking a selfie with the dinosaurs – and the brothers promptly left the clowns on the pavement, starting a kind of walking patrol. For _hours_ they kept this up, mingling, chatting, showing off – and, every so often, stopping some kind of altercation. 

And then…tragedy. Raph’s costume tore along his shell, deflating. They’d planned ahead in case of such an event, though, so they just altered their patrol. Now Raph traveled above or below them, leaving his costume in a trash can somewhere. 

Eventually Leo joined him, and then Mikey and Donny. Donny’s costume hadn’t torn, though; he just didn’t want to be walking the streets alone with his brothers in the sewers. Solidarity above adventure; family above all else. 

Or, as Leo liked to say, “All for one.”


	13. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jocelyn practices for Balanchine’s Jewels. Raphael watches. Her co-star gets handsy…

**Rating:** PG-13 (violence/swearing)

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* * *

* * *

Never let it be said that Raph disliked watching Jocelyn practice, but when she practiced with a _male_ , it was significantly less appealing. Every time he saw that guy’s hands on her, he growled – even though he knew it was all for a play and there was nothing intimate about it. She’d even warned him that she was a “ruby” for this play – meaning there was going to be a lot of touching with her co-star. 

Some of it, [**per the script**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DUjJ49B3z6Fs&t=MjMzMjIxYTliYmFhMDMxOTk1ZDA1NzU2NTA5ZmQ3Zjk0MGFkMmFkMSxWMDlkdHhycw%3D%3D&b=t%3AFXCZxUdc25qjtRd8wytf_Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fsultrysirens.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172830973419%2Fthe-dancer-mini&m=0), actually _was_ intimate. It was hard to stop himself from barging in on their practice when he saw _those_ motions. Worse, the boy never seemed hesitant over her scars, which were blatantly displayed with her leotard on. Where Raph had trouble even _looking_ at her back, the other man touched them as if they weren’t even there. 

It was enough to make a jealous terrapin…afraid. 

Jocelyn was hosting the practice session today, due to her school’s practice floor having taken some damage a few days ago. That meant she was dancing _in her apartment_ with _another man_. 

More like a _boy_ , based on the white guy’s skinny build. When she stood on her toes, Jocelyn was taller than _he_ was. Hell, she was almost taller than him flat-footed. It was laughable. 

Every so often the pair would pause, facing their reflections, and talk. They gestured while they did so, obviously working out moves. Then they’d go back at it and pick up where they left off, usually replaying the last few moves they’d done. In a way, it pleased Raphael; he liked seeing the practices that went into the plays. 

But that boy…Raph wanted to _strangle_ him. 

Too bad he couldn’t. He’d sworn to keep more alert, lessen the risks to Jocelyn’s life. He had to stay hidden while she was around anyone and everyone else. Hell, just showing himself to Cassandra had put unnecessary stress on him and his family. 

Thus, he couldn’t just barge in there, threaten that male, and leave. It would make it entirely too obvious that Jocelyn was with him, and the more people who knew that, the more dangerous her life became. 

_Can’t risk it._

But damn if he didn’t _itch_ to lay down the law. Sighing, Raphael resigned himself to the role of secret audience, at least keeping an eye out in case anything untoward happened…

* * *

For the most part, Adam was a good partner. He was just a half an inch taller than Jocelyn, but he was sturdy, sure-footed, and fitting for the role of the male Ruby. His dark hair and brown eyes looked good beside her, too, making them a visually appealing pair for Rubies. He was skinny as hell, though, she noticed with a smirk. Other than his limbs being toned, there was no real meat to them. _She_ was more buff than _he_ was, really. And, honestly, she couldn’t help comparing him to Raphael and finding him lacking in every way. 

But his steps were precise and he held up her somewhat overweight body without trouble (most ballerinas were about twenty pounds under her, but then most were also shorter than her) during their pivots and dips. He was a good co-star, cut and dried. 

….Right up until their fourth practice session in her home, when she noticed his hands holding her a little lower on her hips than before. It felt deliberate to her, though she held off on making any assumptions just yet. Pattern recognition said white boys just weren’t into her so much, far more likely to flirt with the paler, skinnier white girls in class, and though she and Adam had been in the same class for three years, he’d never made a move before. 

But, then, they’d never had a solo together, either. Still, it might have been a harmless action on his part, an unnoticed gesture as they learned how to dance together. 

Jocelyn gave him the benefit of the doubt…for a _little_ while. Then, when Adam ended a twist move by holding her flush against him, one hand on her belly, alarm bells went off. When she felt his mouth on her neck, brushing against her flesh, her skin crawled. She jerked out of his grasp and rounded on him with a _no you fucking didn’t_ expression. 

“What the hell was that?!” she demanded, hands on hips. 

He lifted his hands in the air, radiating innocence. “Nothing, honest!” 

“Bullshit, that was a _grab_ ,” she pointed out. 

Shrugging, obviously going for ‘cool’, he ventured, “Alright, so maybe I thought we were connecting…” The look he gave her was lusty, his eyes roaming her lithe, toned form. 

Once upon a time she’d _lived_ for those looks. It would’ve made her smirk and start a game as close as seven months ago; now, it made her shudder with disgust. 

“Uh, no,” she said, crossing her arms. “No ‘connection’. Did you forget that I’m taken, Adam?” 

He smirked, venturing, “I don’t mind sharing with Cassie.” 

…And now she realized how much that rumor could backfire against her. Cassie, the true friend that she was, had agreed with Jo’s plan to fake being a relationship in order to hide her _true_ relationship with a mutant ninja turtle. Holding hands and sharing the occasional kiss was nothing but a shield, an act designed to keep anyone from digging into Jo’s personal life. It kept Raphael – and, by extension, his family – safe in anonymity. 

Evidently she’d forgotten to account for how much boys would enjoy the mental image of “C-J” being intimate. 

“ _I_ mind,” she snapped back. “Keep this professional, Adam, or–”

“Or what?” he challenged, giving her a look of superiority. 

Did he seriously think he was _intimidating?_ She could’ve laughed. No boy had ever frightened her before, and the one currently standing in her apartment in nothing but a unitard was _not_ going to be the first. 

Voice hard, she bit out, “Or I toss you out of my house and find a new co-star. Don’t think I won’t press charges–”

He cut her off with a loud scoff. “Okay, _first_ ,” he began, “I seriously doubt you could _toss_ me.” 

She almost rolled her eyes, thinking it would actually be really easy. Her weight training with Raphael had given her some fine upper body strength. She’d bet it wouldn’t even be that hard. 

“Second,” he went on, “you should know I’m not gonna push for anything. I’m a decent guy,” he declared, gesturing himself – in her experience, guys who said that were _never_ decent. “You say ‘no’ and I respect that.” 

“Good. No,” she intoned. 

Lifting his hands again, he answered, “Alright, done.” 

She nodded, accepting that. 

Then he added, “It’s a shame, though.” 

She groaned. “Adam, don’t. Just don’t.” 

Sighing, he replied, “Fine, fine. Where were we?” He was clearly disappointed but she honestly didn’t give a shit. 

They picked back up then, and although he kept to his promise and didn’t venture anywhere outside the realm of acceptance touches, she couldn’t quite trust him anymore. She kept checking their reflections for his gaze, his hands; her nerves remained taut. If necessary she would absolutely do the same thing to him that she’d done to Desmond. 

Watching him spit out a few teeth would only be distressful in the sense that she’d have to clean blood off the floor later. Lucky for him, then, that he didn’t try any ‘moves’ again. The session went on with a constant air of professionalism. 

Then practice ended and he departed, his farewell tinted with puppy dog eyes and a whine that he clearly felt would win her over. She shut the door in his face. And almost _immediately_ she found Raphael in her room, crouched down on the floor by the window. She took a second to make sure Adam was actually gone, then hurried over to her lover. 

At a glance he looked grumpy and tense, all but radiating hostility. _Great_ , that meant he’d been watching and saw that little altercation between her and Adam. She could just imagine how upset he was right now, and how difficult it was going to be to soothe him. 

When she drew close, venturing, “Hey, baby, what’s up?” he seemed to _unfold_ , rising to his full height in a way that was actually a little intimidating. 

Then he stepped up to her, slid his hands around her to grip her by the rear, and started giving her needy, rough kisses. She could feel desperation and possessiveness in every touch of his lips, telling her without words just how much that little moment with Adam had affected him. 

Raphael was _scared_ , his lingering insecurities ramped up higher than it’d been in months. 

Jocelyn knew already that she couldn’t deny him a single thing – not for the next few days, at least. Any hesitations or resistances on her part would feel like a rejection to him, and that would only end up hurting him and worsening his mood even more. 

Lucky for him, then, that she had no problem with going along with his passions. She just lifted her hands to his cheeks and gave him the most comforting strokes she could as she accepted his insistent affections. 

* * *

Honestly…sometimes Raphael hated himself. 

He hated how easily he succumbed to jealousy, how often he caught himself thinking Jocelyn would be better off without him. Every time he so much as _saw_ her with another man – humans, especially – he found himself suddenly terrified she would leave him for the other man. Even after everything they’d shared, his own self-esteem just couldn’t make him believe he was worthy of her. 

Why would she be with _him_ when she had a handsome male human dancer in arm’s reach, someone who would never risk her life and she could declare was hers for all the world to hear? 

That day they’d confessed their love for each other had soothed his fears…for about a month. In that time he’d been indestructible, a juggernaut of euphoria. Nothing could get under his skin, no amount of teasing from his brothers irritated him, and his rages had simply stopped. 

Yet, eventually, everything had reverted back to normal. Jocelyn’s assault, in particular, had reality crashing back into him. And ever since he’d been stuck in this loop: he loved her and it was great; he caught her hanging out with a boy or started thinking of all the ways he endangered her; his fears took control and drove him to frantically beg her to stay with him; she soothed him, accepted his riotous emotions; he apologized for his paranoid, unreasonable behavior; and finally the process repeated itself. 

By now a smarter man would recognize the pattern. An emotionally stable man would realize his fears would never come true. And a good boyfriend would stop subjecting his girlfriend to that damn loop. 

He was in that last step again: apologizing. He couldn’t do it with words, though. Instead, he was sitting on Jocelyn’s bed, holding her back against his chest, arms around her as he kissed her neck and shoulder. He _really_ needed to get a better grip on himself – it wasn’t healthy to keep repeating this sequence. 

It was giving him a whole near fear: that, by being scared she would leave him and subsequently demanding she stay, he would eventually _drive_ her away, turning it into a self-fulfilling prophecy. As much as his doubts pained him, he needed to avoid that – at all costs. He was constantly scared she would leave him for someone else, and that hurt…but nothing hurt worse than the idea that _he_ might drive her into another man’s arms. 

So, instead, he struggled. He fought to keep cool, to avoid being too needy, to give her ample space. 

With reluctance, he let his arms fall away from her and forced himself to get up off her bed. And Jocelyn looked up, surprised, as he did so. 

That look made him feel worse, bringing into clarity just how often he’d done this. God, how fucking pathetic was he? For all his strength and training and posturing, he had the most frail belief in himself. 

Scowling now, Raphael opted to just leave. 

He didn’t make it more than a step before Jocelyn was calling, “Hey, what’re you doing? Come back here.” 

That gave him pause, glancing back to her. She wasn’t irritated with him? Gesturing her window, he said, “Thought I should go.” 

She shook her head. Lifting a hand to him, she said, “New rule: you’re having self-esteem issues, you’re staying the night.” 

And now a war was starting in him, indignation versus appreciation. A part of him wanted to yell at her that he wasn’t having self-esteem issues, that he wasn’t that fuckin’ weak (despite the fact that he recognized it was true); the rest of him wanted to just take what she was offering. 

Knowing that yelling would just end up in him getting kicked out, he opted for the second option. 

Soon he was sitting on her floor, his head in her lap, arms around her waist, just hanging on. It was kind of embarrassing, to be honest, but Jocelyn’s hands eased that emotion as she stroked and scratched at him. 

Sometime later, he muttered, “Sorry I’m such a knucklehead.” 

She chuckled, amused. “You being a knucklehead means cuddles for me, so I’m cool with it. Go ahead and be a knucklehead all you like.” 

He snorted. “Yer crazy,” he declared. 

“Nah,” she disagreed, “just head over heels in love.” 

Grinning, he turned his face into her thighs, hiding as best he could. 

He was so fucking lucky.


End file.
